Harry Potter and the Great Divide! Year Six!
by Bluejeans1481
Summary: Reeling from the death of his godfather, Harry enters his sixth year at Hogwarts a marked man. But is he putting his friends and family at danger? Will Ron finally ask Hermione out? And in a time of Division will Harry be the one wizard to unite them all?
1. Chapter One

HARRY POTTER AND THE GREAT DIVIDE  
  
It was a lazy and peaceful July night on Privet Drive, and very few bedroom lamps were left lit. The soft yellow glow through the very appropriate curtains made each window look like a small square of light set into a world that was otherwise completely blue and still. With his elbows on his windowsill, Harry Potter counted the seconds between the darknesses, as one by one, the bedroom lamps were turned off, and people with completely normal lives said, "Goodnight, dear," or turned off their televisions, or gave the family pet one last scratch on the head. Harry Potter wondered vaguely what it would be like to be a normal teenager. Would he be watching reruns of the Avengers on his own television set, like Dudley? Would he be pretending to sleep as the shadow of his parents' footsteps passed the amber crack under his door, like Ron? Or would he be surreptitiously studying by flashlight, like Hermione? The fact of the matter was, that Harry Potter was nothing like a normal teenager, nor would he ever be. For Harry Potter was a wizard. And not only that... "At least," he muttered to himself, "At least I might have been a normal wizard." But it was too warm and too peaceful a night to allow his anger to rise. As somber and lonely as these moments were, some small part of him must have enjoyed his nightly vigil at the windowsill, because he returned there, every night. The dust of his windowsill was marked by the two round prints of his elbows. He looked over at the lamp posts humming their mute pools of light onto the moon-blue asphalt, and let his eyes wander, slowly, over to his neighbor's lawn. "No," he said out loud, and forced himself to look over at the deserted playground, barely visible down the block. "That's where the dementors attacked Dudley and I," he muttered to himself, trying to map the confused events of the past few years onto the quiet street scene. He looked down at the windowsill, and saw the deep scars running into the brick surrounding it. "That's where Ron and Fred and George pulled out the bars with the flying car," he smiled. But like Mad Eye Moody's, his eyes seemed to be wandering of their own accord, out of his control, back to the neighbor's front lawn again, to the dark space between the branches – But there were no yellow eyes in the darkness to meet his green ones.  
"And that's where –" But he couldn't finish his sentence. The street lights were being refracted into too circular spectrums of watery light, and he had to hold his breath very tightly in his stomach. Luna had spoken of voices behind the curtain. Harry would have paid all the Galleons in his vault then to hear a voice from beyond that veil – Sirius Black, his godfather...Lily, his mother...James, his father. Even Cedric, just to know...just to know that they were there, wherever they were. "Why does everyone I touch end up dead?" he thought for the thousandth time that summer. "Stop being stupid," he said out loud, and pinched himself, hard, on the arm. "They're dead. He's dead, just like your parents, just like Diggory, and it's time you stopped snivelling." As soon as he thought the word, though, he saw a young Sirius in his mind's eye, laughing with James, as they spun "Snivellus" Snape in the air – No, he thought, shaking his head. That's not the way he wanted to remember his family, the only parents he ever knew. He thought of their wedding photo – his mother's eyes sparkling at her father as she laughed, his Dad looking right into his green eyes, right through him. And Sirius, before his face had gone slack and pale in Azkaban, laughing with them....looking at them like nothing could make him happier than seeing them happy... He pinched his arm again, and recited a few lines of "Flying with the Cannons" mentally. But it didn't seem to be working. He let go of his forearm, and was surprised to see a small round purple bruise, from where he had been pinching it, night after night. "Ron," he said out loud. "Hermione. Neville. Fred. George," he recited mentally. He had plenty of friends who were alive and well, plenty of friends he would be seeing in a few short months. Friends he had been fighting alongside, friends who would never let him down in a hundred years. He grinned. "Friends that you put in danger?" said a small voice in his heart, "Friends that you almost killed trying to play the hero?" His reverie was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a tiny ball of feathers, smacking loudly into the window pane just an inch from his ear. More out of instinct than anything else, he shot his hand out to catch the fluffy little Snitch, only to see that it was – "Pig!" he cried. In the next room, his Uncle Vernon snored loudly, and muttered. Cupping the dazed owl in his hands, he shut one of the shutters, and carried Pigwidgeon to his bed. "What is it, Pig? A note from Ron?" Pleasantly surprised, and relieved that someone else couldn't sleep, Harry unfurled the note. But his pleasant relief was interrupted by an icy shiver – "HARRY – HE KNOWS. HE'S COMING. THERE'S NO TIME - GET THE MUGGLES AND GET OUT. WE'LL TRY TO GET DUMBLEDO - - " Ron's untidy scrawl ended in an abrupt line of ink slashed across the page.  
  
Without a second thought, Harry flung himself under his bed, shouting out at the top of his lungs: "GET UP! GET UP NOW! GET UP!"  
In the other room, his Aunt gave a shriek, and he heard his Uncle sputtering and coughing through the thick walls. The laugh-track of Dudley's television continued across the hall.  
"DUDLEY! NOW!" shouted Harry. He ripped up the loose floorboard and seized a small bag of Floo Powder – Dumbledore had sent it to him by owl, "Just in case," only a few days after the end of term.  
"This seems like a "Just in case," Harry muttered grimly through his teeth. Suddenly he heard the front door rattle downstairs.  
"WHAT – IN – BLAZES –"sputtered Uncle Vernon, standing in the doorway, Aunt Petunia clinging to his beefy shoulder.  
"No time!" shouted Harry, "Take Dudley and go out the back! NOW!"  
"I will do NO SUCH THING!" shouted Uncle Vernon, purple creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. "I told you I'd have no more of this –"  
"ALOHOMORA!" boomed a voice from downstairs, and with a sinking feeling, Harry recognized the voice of Lucius Malfoy, and the almighty bang of the door being smashed open.  
"GET IN!" shouted Harry, and the Dursleys found themselves being whipped into the room quite against their will. Harry remarked to himself surprisedly that he had done magic without intending to.  
"WHAT- YOU- HOW – DARE!" sputtered Vernon as Petunia moaned softly behind him.  
"JUST GET DOWN!" shouted Harry. And for the first time in a decade and a half, Uncle Vernon did precisely as he was told.  
There was a long, tense silence, punctuated by a few creaks from downstairs. Harry's mind was racing a mile a minute, whipping through the curses he knew... "Expelliarmus," he thought, "Locomotor Mortis, uhhh... Impedimenta...Expelliarmus...uh...uh...Expelliarmus!..." It was as though five years of learning had whipped out of his brain. Ron...what had happened to Ron? Surely Mrs. Weasley's clock was pointing even now to "Mortal Peril." But had they managed to contact Dumbledore? And what of Hermione? Did she even know? Who else could he contact in the Order? If they could only get to the fireplace...but where to go – The Burrow? Grimmauld Place? Hogwarts? Suddenly there was a creak on the stair, and all three of them froze. Aunt Petunia whimpered quietly, her face mashed into the floor, barely able to breathe beneath the bulk of Uncle Vernon. He put his beefy hand over her mouth, and whispered, "Shhh..." quietly. It was almost more than Harry could bear, to hear his normally brutish, vicious Uncle comforting her...for the first time he realized they were not just his Aunt and Uncle, but a husband and wife...just like his parents... "This is how it was," he thought, and the very thought made his blood race. Suddenly, in the door frame – "Mummy? Dad?" Dudley said, his bulk nearly filling the entire doorway, "Have you gone mad?" Harry realized he had been holding his breath, and released it in a rush. "What's HE doing?" he asked angrily. "Dudley," hissed Harry, "get in here, now!" Dudley furrowed his brow again, but before he could reply, the hallway was filled with green light. Dudley's eyes opened wide for a brief moment, and he fell with a heavy thud to the floor, his striped pajamas askew, as Aunt Petunia's horrible screech filled Harry's roaring ears.... Without waiting to find out what happened next, Harry wielded his wand, and cried, "EXPELLIARMUS!" Not a moment too soon, Lucius Malfoy's wand was sent spinning out of his hand, even as he stepped into view. "LOCOMOTOR MORTIS!" Harry cried, his voice cracking with panic. Lucius fells stiffly to the ground on top of Dudley, on top of what used to be Dudley. Aunt Petunia was wailing, scratching the floorboards with her nails, trying to claw her way to Dudley, as Vernon called her name loudly. "That will be quite enough of that...Mr. Potter," said a sibiliant, all-too- familiar voice. Even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia fell silent. "EXPELL—" But Harry found that suddenly his voice had left him. A few red sparks shot out of the end of his wand, but nothing more. The hem of a dark cloak swept into view, and as Harry followed the cloak upwards he saw the same, red, burning eyes he knew to expect – the snake- like slits for nostrils – the musty reek he knew from Quirrell's turban... "Prophecy," said Voldemort softly. "So many questions. So many twists and turns. So many unforseen events." With a flick of his wand, Harry found himself roughly thrown to the ground. He felt the joint of his elbow snap out of place under his weight, his vision turning dark, then to stars, cotton in his mouth and ears. He wrestled his consciousness out of the muck, and heard Voldemort's sinister voice: "...But tonight, Mr. Potter, we finally have an answer. An answer to all the questions, a twist to end all the silly little tribulations you have put me through." Harry tried to scream. He tried to kick. "Accio wand," he thought, "Accio wand!" But nothing happened. He felt a hand on his ankle. He looked down to see Aunt Petunia grasping his ankle, her head buried into the floor, shaking like a leaf. "M-my boy..M-m-mm...my D-Dudley...!" Uncle Vernon stuttered dazedly. Another flash of green light, and the Dursley's lay still on the floor. "Strike a chord, Harry? There's something...familiar about all this. Ohhhh yes. A Potter to the end, aren't you Harry? A very brave hero who dies trying to save the people he loves, when YOU are the very reason these people are all dead tonight." Harry's heart sank. All of them... Ron...Hermione... "Oh yes," Voldemort hissed sibiliantly, "All the Weasleys, in fact. And Bellatrix herself just returned from the Granger's home...I imagine it will take a week to get the stench of that dirty blood off of her robes, but she'll manage, I'm sure...It's only a matter of time before Lupin, Moody, yes, even Dumbledore, all meet the same sticky end as your recently departed godfather..." The burning in Harry's scar was even more unbearable now than his shattered elbow, as Voldemort sank slowly to the floor, slithered over to Harry, whispering in his ear. "I have you to thank, my boy...couldn't have done it without you, really." Harry's eyes were blurred again my angry tears. So this is what all their effort had been for. "And now, Harry, the end. I would allow you some last words, but I'm afraid you would say something quite embarrassing, like some feeble, first-year jinx. And we wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation – hero." His lips were almost touching Hary's ear...he could feel his putrid breath rustle his hair, as he whispered, "Crucio!"  
It was pain beyond all pain, mixed with the horrible laughter, and screaming...who was screaming? He realized he himself was screaming, as knives of electric pain shot through him –  
"POTTER!!" shouted a very familiar voice.  
...a thousand knives...  
"POTTER!!!"  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY IT, POTTER!?" That was Uncle Vernon, Harry thought, even as the laughter and the screaming died on his lips. He couldn't tell which had belonged to him. He opened his eyes against the searing pain in his forehead, and saw all three of the Dursleys standing over his bed. He released his white-knuckle grip on the bedsheets, and looked from Aunt Petunia's pale, horsey face to Dudley's angry, half-asleep scowl.  
  
"You...you're alive," Harry stammered weakly.  
  
"Alive?" Uncle Vernon snorted, "Of course we're alive, no thanks to you! You scared the entire neighborhood nearly out of its wits! I wouldn't be half surprisedif the police arrived on our doorstep any minute! Didn't I tell you that this nightmare nonsense had to end, or it would be St. Brutus's for you? Didn't I tell you that -"  
  
But he was already gasping for breath despite his best efforts. He sat up in bed, and wrapped his arms around his knees, ashamed of himself, but unable to control the burning in his eyes. Uncle Vernon was so shocked he stopped in mid-sentence, and Dudley snapped out of his half-asleep torpor, his mouth hanging down to his chest.  
  
"Yes...er...well..." Uncle Vernon stammered, trying to find something vicious to say, yet seemingly stymied.  
  
"Get out!" choked Harry, trying to sound angry. The last time he had let the Dursleys see him cry, he had been four, and he was not about to lend them any more ammunition.  
  
"You'll watch your tone, you ungrateful freak!" hissed Vernon. But his anger seemed tinged by his confusion and fear. "I'm warning you boy, not another ruddy sound," he muttered, and he stomped out of the room. Dudley grinned nastily.  
  
"Crying about your boyfriend again, Potter? Ohhh, Cedric! Ohhh—"  
  
"GET OUT!" shouted Harry, and Dudley found himself shoved out of the door by an invisible hand. Only Aunt Petunia was left standing there, her face still pale. There was a highly awkward silence in which Harry held his breath and secretly pinched his forearm under the blankets.  
  
Aunt Petunia sniffed abruptly, and ventured, "Was....was it...Lily? Err...your parents?" Though she spoke in her usual snotty tone, Harry caught her stealing surreptitious glances at him.  
  
"GET OUT!!" Harry cried out for the third time.  
  
"You needn't shout," said Aunt Petunia stiffly, after a moment. She turned her back on him, but did not leave. Harry was reminded forcibly of her grabbing his ankle during his dream. Another moment passed, where he wondered if he ought to say anything. But the minute he decided not to, Aunt Petunia snapped, "I expect you to be up at eight o clock. You might as well stay up" and stormed out of the room. "Alright," Harry muttered aloud, "Get a hold of yourself. No sense in going all to pieces."  
  
What would his father do? What would Sirius--  
  
"Stop," he said aloud.  
  
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyebrows, ignoring by habit the tingling in his scar. He was not about to rush off and do something rash. The last time he'd done that, Sirius had--  
  
"STOP!" he said sternly.  
  
Of course! The Floo Powder! He hung his torso over the edge of his bed, and lifted up the floorboard. He paused however, with his hand on the small burlap bag...This was going to be risky. The Dursleys had already boarded up the fireplace again. And more importantly, who was he going to contact in the middle of the night?  
  
He tried to picture what his friends would say.  
  
"Harry, that's serious," Hermione's voice said anxiously in his head, "If Voldemort is using Leglimancy to get inside your head, You should go straight to Dumbledore. Maybe you should start taking Occlumency with Snape again--"  
  
Harry shook his head to clear the voice away. He had nothing but love and respect for Hermione, but sometimes she just didn't understand. He was not going to bother Dumbledore with his gloom and doom yet again, and he certainly wasn't going to do anything that would result in extra lessons with Snape.  
  
He tried to think what Ron might say, and played Ron's usual litany of anxious muttering in his head. But aside from Ron's occasional lack of stalwart bravery, he was the person Harry wanted to talk to right now - not an authority figure, but a friend, who would sympathize and assure him that everything would turn out right.  
  
"Besides," he thought, "I can make sure everyone's alright at the Burrow. Just in case."  
  
"But everyone IS fine," he said out loud, "It was just a dream! Just a dream!"  
  
His decision made, he pulled on his blue jeans, and put his wand and floo powder in his back pocket.  
  
Careful to close the door softly, Harry crept down the hallway. Dudley's TV droned on softly, as did his uncle's snoring. He could always count on those two to fall asleep faster than you could say, "Dormiens" but Aunt Petunia was another matter. He was certain she was still awake. He would have to be very careful.  
  
He avoided the creaking third stair, just over his old "bedroom," and snuck into the livingroom.  
  
"Evanesco," he whispered, pointing his wand at the pine planking hastily nailed over the fireplace. He waved his wand and whispered, "Inflamarium!" and a small but cheerful fire was crackling in the grate. He looked over his shoulder anxiously, expecting to hear Aunt Petunia creaking down the stairs any moment, but he was lucky - only more snores, and the occasional pop from the fireplace.  
  
He grabbed a sofa cushion off the couch and put it under his knees. Throwing a small handful of floo powder into the flames, he said, "The Burrow" clearly and softly, and soon the familiar spinning sensation forced him to shut his eyes tight. When he opened them again, he was looking into the Weasley's dark kitchen/dining room.  
  
"Ron?" he whispered loudly. Hmm. He hadn't exactly thought it out this far. How was he going to get Ron to come down here without waking the entire family? He remarked to himself ironically that shouting "Accio Ron" was probably a very bad idea. Just then, he had a very good idea.  
  
"Pig!" he whispered. "Pig! Here, Pig!" He whistled softly and was rewarded by a cheerful hoot.  
  
Suddenly Pig came pelting into the room, whizzing in circles and hooting loudly.  
  
"Shhh! Shut up! Pig! Shut it!...No...NO!" he shouted, for Pig had spotted him, and was zooming straight for his face.  
  
Instinctively, Harry jerked his head out of the fire, and blinked against the disorienting feeling of being back in his own livingroom. But Pigwidgeon also burst promptly out of the fireplace hooting and chirping for all he was worth. Upstairs, he heard Uncle Vernon snort loudly.  
  
Harry did some quick thinking and pointed his wand at Pigwidgeon.  
  
"Silencio!" he whispered. Pig's shrill chirping and hooting was suddenly silenced. Pigwidgeon was so shocked that he fell with an unruly bump to the couch and turned to look at Harry with wide-eyed suprise, as though to ask, "Why would anyone ever want ME to be quiet?"  
  
There was a tense moment as Harry strained his eyes and ears in the darkness, but soon Uncle Vernon's rumbling snores resumed. Heaving a sigh  
  
of relief, Harry scooped Pigwidgeon up.  
  
"Pig, listen," Harry said, "Go wake up Ron, and get him to come down to the kitchen fireplace. Keep pecking at him until he does. But don't wake anyone else up, got it?"  
  
Pig hooted silently, looking thrilled to have a mission.  
  
Harry threw another pinch of floo powder into the flames, just to make sure, and whispered, "The Burrow!" Then, feeling slightly guilty, he reached back and chucked Pig into the flames like a feathery baseball. The fire gave a little crackle, and Pigwidegon spun like a little gray Sneakoscope before whizzing out of sight.  
  
Harry waited a bit longer, then stuck his head into the flames, said "The Burrow," and closed his eyes once more against the spinning feeling...  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
He opened his eyes and saw the same dark kitchen...he counted the tiles on the floor idly, wondering if Pig had even managed to get into Ron's room - what if he had the door closed? Would Pig think to check back with Harry? Several minutes ticked by, and Harry was just about to give up, when Ron's sock-clad feet came down the stairs across the room. Harry smiled at the holes in the toes. The feet stopped just in front of the fire, and Ron's knees thunked down to the tiles.  
  
"Harry?" Ron said sleepily, peering into his face.  
  
"Alright, Ron?" Harry smiled, relieved. Of course it had just been a dream. No reason at all to suspect that the Weasleys were anything but fine.  
  
"Are YOU alright?" Ron asked suddenly. He seemed to realize that Harry's head arriving in his fireplace was not a day to day occurence. "How did you even manage this? Didn't the Muggles stop you?"  
  
"Dumbledore connected me to the Network, and gave me some Floo Powder," Harry said, shaking his head dismissively, "The Muggles don't know. Ron, I had this dream -"  
  
Harry told Ron everything that had happened, and Ron listened wide-eyed.  
  
"So what do you think?" Harry said.  
  
Ron was quiet for a long time.  
  
"Well..." he said thoughtfully, "The last time you were having nightmares, You-Know-Who was trying to--"  
  
"--Ron," Harry interrupted, smiling, "Don't you think it's time you started saying Voldemort, like the rest of us?"  
  
Ron flinched visibly at the name, but suddenly seemed very angry.  
  
"It's alright for you, isn't it?" he whispered angrily, "You're The Harry Potter! Well some of us might not be so brave! I should think that after what happened to Sirius--"  
  
But he cut himself off looking mortified at Harry's expression. They both looked down at the floor. Harry's knees began to hurt.  
  
"I should think after what happened to Sirius," Ron continued slowly, "you WOULD be afraid, Harry." He trailed off apologetically, and met Harry's eyes again.  
  
Harry thought for a long time. Yes, he had been terrified when Voldemort showed up in his dream, terrified when he realized all of his friends were dead, and it was his fault. But he wasn't about to tell Ron that.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ron said, "I was being stupid. We're all fine here, you don't need to worry. It was just a dream."  
  
There was another awkward pause.  
  
"You know, it's not just you, you know," Ron said slowly. "Ginny...Ginny was there too, in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione was there too. It wasn't your Dad being attacked by a giant snake -"  
  
"No," Harry said quietly, "It was both my parents being killed by Voldemort."  
  
Ron sighed. "All I meant is, you're not the only one who's afraid for - for people. Certain...people," he finished lamely.  
  
Harry didn't know what to say. He had never heard Ron speak like this.  
  
"Excuse me gentlemen," said a very kindly voice. Another head had suddenly appeared just at Harry's right temple, and Harry found Albus Dumbledore smiling politely at him, the tip of his nose about a centimeter from Harry's. In fact, they had to angle their heads slightly so as to both fit in the Weasley's grate.  
  
"Uhm, good evening, Professor. err, Headmaster," Ron stammered. Dumbledore was possibly the most likeable, least frightening wizard at Hogwarts, with the possible exception of Professor Flitwick, but it seemed that his sudden appearance in Ron's kitchen had thrown him for a bit of a loop.  
  
"I wonder if you are aware, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, "That you are as of yet an underage wizard?"  
  
Harry gasped and spluttered on some Floo Powder.  
  
"The Sp- spells - I used magic to use the f-fireplace..."  
  
"Yes, I believe it was a Vanishing Charm, Silencing Charm, and a Flame Charm, actually. Really, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling over his spectacles, "You ran out of matches?"  
  
Harry abashedly began running through excuses, but Dumbledore cut him off with a friendly shake of his head.  
  
"Explain later, Harry, I'm sure you used your best judgement. We have more pressing issues to attend to right now. The Ministry of Magic will be arriving at your house in short course, I imagine, so you only have a few minutes to get to Headquarters."  
  
"Headquarters, sir?" Harry asked, with a sinking feeling.  
  
"Yes, Harry. Only for a short while though – you'll soon be at the Burrow again." "Harry's coming here?" Ron said happily, and Harry's heart lept up in his chest.  
  
"After a few days at Headquarters, Mr. Weasley, yes," said Dumbledore gently, "And you'd best get packing too. Rouse the whole family, and tell them to meet at Headquarters as soon as they can. Your parents and the twins should Apparate, actually...pity you haven't passed your exams yet. Now, you both remember the address?"  
  
"Sure we do," Ron said, "Tw-"  
  
"Shhh!" Harry said quickly.  
  
"Oh, right. Sorry."  
  
"Hurry, boys," Dumbledore said, "I'll explain everything when we get there."  
  
But Harry had heard that line before. He trusted Dumbledore, yes. He knew the Headmaster would never lie to him, not directly. But he did have a tendency to, well...withhold information.  
  
"No," he thought, "Just trust him. No thinking time. Go."  
  
And with that, he jerked his head out of the flames, and found himself staring at his Uncle's plaid slippers.  
  
"SO!" he bellowed.  
  
He had no choice.  
  
"Mimbleton Wibbly Nob!" He shouted, pointing his wand behind Uncle Vernon's back.  
  
Involuntarily, Vernon Durlsey whipped his heavy bulk around and held his hands up to his face defensively, waiting for something awful to come flying at him, or his face to turn purple, or something equally horrible. But Harry was already pelting up the stairs for his trunk.  
  
"POTTTTEEEEEERRRR!!!!"  
  
But he had successfully locked himself in his room. He dove under the bed, hauled his trunk out, and dashed across the room to unlock Hedwig.  
  
"Meet me at Headquarters, Hedwig!" he shouted, as he flung open the window. But before she could even hoot surprisedly, Uncle Vernon was already in the doorway, and Harry had a feeling that no phoney curses were going to dissuade him.  
  
Uncle Vernon actually was purple faced this time, though not through any magic of Harry's, and looked quite near frothing at the mouth. Petunia was clasping Dudley around the neck in the background, seemingly more petrified of her own husband than anything Harry might have done. He held a screwdriver in his hand, and Harry could see several angry, fresh scars in the doorjamb.  
  
"I've always wanted that lock off," he risked, cheekily.  
  
Uncle Vernon let out a bellow like a wounded rhinocerous, and charged across the room with the screwdriver held high, apparently about to murder him, or at the very least, pound him. When suddenly, a bright white light filled the room from the open window.  
  
"MR. POTTER," said a clear, loud voice. Harry heard the same odd reverb in Lee's voice as he commented every Quidditch game. Hedwig flapped wildly in her cage. "THIS IS THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, DIVISION FOR THE RESTRICTION OF UNDERAGE WIZARDRY. WE HAVE A WARRANT TO DETAIN YOU FOR QUESTIONING. PLEASE DROP YOUR WAND, AND PUT BOTH HANDS ON YOUR HEAD WHILE WE ENTER THE PREMISES."  
  
Harry's stomach turned to ice. He'd blown it. He was actually getting arrested. But suddenly, he was being shoved aside, and Uncle Vernon climbed onto his desk, shaking his fist out the window.  
  
"WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE MEAN BY IT! CEASE THAT INFERNAL RACKET AT ONCE!" he shouted, his fury tinged with panic, "YOU'LL HAVE THE WHOLE BLOODY NEIGHBORHOOD LISTENING!"  
  
Harry seized the moment, and dashed out of the room, shoving Dudley out of the way as he passed.  
  
"STOP!" came the magical, booming voice. But Harry had higher orders. He was halfway down the stairs, when he was jerked abruptly backwards – Dudley had grabbed his shirt sleeve and was scowling at him triumphantly.  
  
Without thinking, Harry balled up his fist, reached it way back, and gave Dudley a sock in the nose that sat him promptly on the steps. He looked twice as shocked as he was hurt.  
  
"Sorry," he called back over his shoulder, but he couldn't help reflecting as he flung the Floo Powder into the grate, that he had wanted to do that since primary school.  
  
"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!" he whispered.  
  
"WE WILL BE FORCED TO STUN YOU --"  
  
"ACCIO TRUNKS!" he shouted, and stepped into the grate.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
The first thing that happened, after the spinning had stopped, was he was propelled directly onto Ron Weasley's back.  
  
"Gerroff!" Ron muttered, his nose squashed into the kitchen floor of 12 Grimmauld Place.  
  
Immediately after, Harry's trunk full of schoolbooks and clothes shot out of the fireplace and opened, spilling books and clothing over the two boys before landing neatly in Fred and George's outstretched arms.  
  
"Harry! Ron!" cried Hermione, "Are you alright?"  
  
"Quite an entrance, boys," Dumbledore said, smiling.  
  
Harry picked himself up gingerly only to find himself nearly knocked over by an anxious Hermione.  
  
"Oh HARRY, why on Earth would you--"  
  
"Let him breathe, Hermione!" Ron said, picking himself up, only to find himself muffled by her bushy hair as she flung her arms around his neck. A moment later, however, she seemed to realize what she had done, and the two quickly stepped back from each other.  
  
"Alright, Harry?" grinned Fred. "In trouble already?"  
  
"Yeah, well, you know me," Harry said grudgingly. He looked at Dumbledore guiltily, "I've made a right pig's ear out of it now, haven't I?"  
  
"I'm sure you had a very important reason," Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes penetrating Harry. Did he already know about the dream?  
  
"Yes, Harry, what did happen?," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "I mean, you've already run into so much trouble with the Ministry, there must have been some reason that you--"  
  
"I'll tell you later," Harry said, distractedly, and suddenly, he looked over his shoulder to see Bill and Lupin sitting at the table.  
  
"Hey Harry," Bill grinned. Lupin, however, just smiled gently, and said "Hello, Harry," in what Harry felt was a rather too-quiet voice. Harry smiled and nodded awkwardly, but for some reason he didn't feel as happy as he'd thought he would to see Lupin. Lupin, however, seemed either not to notice or was simply ignoring this, because he turned to Dumbledore abruptly and said, "Well, what's the plan?"  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said, "You, Ron, and Hermione will lay low here for a while. Some of your friends will be joining you shortly. I will have to go meet with Fudge, but first, I need to speak to you alone."  
  
"Of course," Harry said, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
"Remus, perhaps you could procure a late night snack for Miss Granger and the Weasley boys?"  
  
"Sure," Lupin replied.  
  
"Harry, if you'd follow me." Harry followed Dumbledore into the hall, and up the creaking stairs, careful to tiptoe past the curtained painting of Sirius's mother. He felt a sudden pang as he realized that the very last of the Blacks was now...  
  
"Stop," he said aloud.  
  
Dumbledore turned and looked at Harry with an expression of mild surprise.  
  
"Oh, sorry," Harry muttered, "Not...nothing."  
  
Dumbledore continued to peer into his eyes for a moment, then smiled the same gentle smile as Lupin, and turned to continue mounting the stairs. Harry felt the same small surge of resentment he'd felt when he saw Lupin. The last thing he needed was pity.  
  
At last they arrived in the room he and Ron had shared last summer, and over the Christmas while Mr. Weasley was in the hospital.  
  
"Ah, Headmaster. And the man of the hour himself. Well done, young hero, very noble. Perhaps, if you made a concerted effort, you could make life for all concerned even more difficult than we presently find it."  
  
"Phineas," Dumbledore said quietly to the portrait of a sallow unpleasant- looking man, "Perhaps you could visit your other portrait for the next hour or so." It was clearly not a suggestion, and Phineas swished abruptly out of the frame.  
  
There was a long silence in which Harry looked at the Headmaster's back, waiting for him to begin asking questions. After a while, he got tired of standing there waiting and sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Are you quite alright, Harry?" Dumbledore asked suddenly.  
  
"Yes. Fine," he replied instantly. Dumbledore turned to face him and smiled the same gentle smile.  
  
"Well, now that that's settled," he said, "How are you really?"  
  
Anger surged up in Harry again, but by now he had learned to control it. "I'm fine. if I wasn't I'd tell you."  
  
"I am only concerned, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "Because I don't quite believe you would. After all, you haven't in the past, even when you were quite upset or worried."  
  
"Well, I'm fine, and I wish everyone would stop treating me as though I might break into pieces if they were to speak above a whisper," Harry said crossly.  
  
"It is not only out of personal concern," Dumbledore said patiently, "Although please believe me, we are all quite concerned for you on a deeply personal level. I need to know how you are handling Sirius's death, Harry. It's very important that you tell me what you are feeling."  
  
The words stung more than he had expected. No one has said Sirius's name in months. He himself had not said it in months. In fact, every time the name crossed his mind, he canceled it out, deleted it.  
  
"Sirius..." he muttered, and in saying the name, he was suddenly flooded with the image of Sirius smiling at him from his parent's wedding photo, smiling at him as he handed him a butterbeer, placing his big black paws on his shoulders as he left for school...his eyes swam, and he held his breath.  
  
"If you would like to cry, Harry--"  
  
"NO!" shouted Harry, "I would very much like NOT to cry!" He was on his feet as though he were catapulted from the bed. "I don't know why this is so difficult for everyone to understand! I don't WANT to cry, no matter how 'good for me' it would be! I don't like wallowing about being miserable and useless. Flooding Grimmauld Place with tears isn't going to bring Sirius back! Crying never got anyone what they wanted. So if that's all you brought me up here to ask, you needn't have bothered."  
  
Dumbledore sighed.  
  
"It is true, Harry, wallowing in misery and refusing to relinquish the past never got anyone anywhere. However, to deny the past entirely equally prevents us from living fully in the present. We don't have to talk about Sirius anymore. Just know that when you are ready to talk about him, you are always welcome to talk to me."  
  
"Well, I'll bear it in mind," Harry said crossly.  
  
"I will simply say that Sirius was forced out of your life against both of your wills. He would be very disappointed if you decided to force him out of your heart as well."  
  
Harry could think of nothing to say, so he remained quiet.  
  
"Now, tonight - why did you use the Floo Powder I gave you?"  
  
"I had a dream. A nightmare. I just wanted to talk to Ron to make sure he and his family were alright."  
  
"I see," Dumbledore said, "And was this just a dream? Or was it more real, like the vision you had of Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"I suppose it was real enough," Harry said, "but like I said, I checked on it and everyone is fine."  
  
"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said, "For now. But I think you had better tell me everything you saw in your dream."  
  
Harry explained as best he could, being sure to leave nothing out. As much as he and Dumbledore had not gotten along as well as they used to, he had learned one thing from six years at Hogwarts - tell Dumbledore everything, as soon as possible.  
  
"I thought this might happen," Dumbledore said.  
  
"Why," Harry said uncomfortably, "Do you think Voldemort is trying to get into my head again?"  
  
"I wouldn't doubt it, Harry," Dumbledore said wearily, "Now that he is aware of this weapon, he will surely try to exploit it. And the more he is able to discover about you, the more likely he is to exploit it. I fear the Dursleys are not safe. We will require a secret keeper...and unfortunately, it will be required that you recommence your Occlumency lessons."  
  
"I'm not taking Occlumency with Snape again," Harry said determinedly.  
  
"Professor Snape, Harry. Now I know the two of you have had your differences -"  
  
"Had our differences?"  
  
"But it is your responsibility. The Order is depending on both of you to work this out. I don't need to tell you, Harry, how important this is. You need to be able to separate yourself from Voldemort, while the divide between you and Professor Snape is just one of many that you will need to bridge in your lifetime. It is time you began to do so."  
  
Harry sighed. He didn't think that he would ever...what was it? "Bridge a divide" between himself and Professor Snape, but he could at least stomach some more Occlumency lessons for the good of the Order.  
  
"I understand Professor."  
  
Dumbledore smiled at Harry. This time, rather than feel annoyed, Harry felt heartened.  
  
"I have always been able to depend on you Harry. It is both a tremendous comfort and a source of guilt to me. You should not have to shoulder all that you have."  
  
"It's not that much," Harry said, "I'm alright." At a look from Dumbledore he continued, "Well, alright, I guess it is. But we've all got a lot on our hands right now."  
  
"Yes, indeed we do Harry. And speaking of which, it is time I went to see Fudge. Oh, and I believe you will have a letter waiting for you in the kitchen. In addition," he continued, "You will need to choose a secret- keeper for the Durlsey home. And Harry," he said, peering at him over his glasses, "Do choose carefully. History tells us that this will be an important decision for you."  
  
Harry thought darkly of Peter Pettigrew, of how he had betrayed both Sirius and his parents, had betrayed them all, really. He nodded grimly.  
  
"And Harry," said Dumbledore, "Do try to enjoy being with your friends again."  
  
And with a friendly nod, and a loud crack, Dumbledore had Apparated.  
  
*********************************************************************** Harry sighed deeply, and was about to reach for the doorknob when there was a timid knock on the door.  
  
"Excuse me," Hermione's timid voice came, "Professor Dumbledore? Harry?"  
  
"It's fine, Hermione, come on in."  
  
"Excellent," Ron said, pushing the door open and barging in. He threw an arm around Harry and slapped him on the back a few times. "Never got a proper hello, did we?" he grinned.  
  
"Hi Ron," Harry said, slapping back and grinning. Dumbledore was right - it was great to see his friends again after being isolated for so long.  
  
"How was your summer?" Hermione asked, and there was an awkward pause. "Well, I mean...you know."  
  
"It was alright," Harry said hesitantly with a shrug.  
  
"Listen, Harry, Ron's told me all about your dream...what did Dumbledore have to say?"  
  
"I've got to start taking Occlumency with Snape again," Harry said darkly.  
  
"Well Harry, I can't say that I'm surprised," Hermione said sympathetically, "I mean, it really is-"  
  
"-For the good of the Order, I know. Tell me about your summers," Harry said. He'd had enough politics and subterfuge and strife. It was time to relax for a while.  
  
"Well, I've been studying, of course," Hermione said, as though it should be perfectly obvious. "I've been reading up on Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I also wanted to get a jump on studying for the N.E.W.T.S. And I've been VERY active with S.P.E.W."  
  
"Knitting no doubt," Ron said dryly.  
  
"For your information," Hermione said sniffily, "Dumbledore thinks it is a good idea to develop better relations between wizards and magical creatures, particularly with V-Voldemort returning to power. You saw how influential Kreacher was in--"  
  
"Don't say that name to me," Harry said stiffly. "Oh, Harry," Hermione said, her eyes wide, "I'm sorry, you know I didn't—" "Drop it, Hermione," Ron said quietly. "Where is...that..." Harry stammered angrily. "Dead," Ron said, "Old age, we think. We found him with his arms around Bellatrix's photo and an old blanket – we think it may have been from Mrs. Black's room. He had a note by him too...It's like he knew it was his time or something..." Hermione shuddered visibly. "What is it?" Harry asked. "Well, I don't know if you noticed, but...er..." "His head," Ron said darkly, "It's up on the wall." Harry's mouth dropped open, "Are you serious?" "It was in the note," Ron said, "His last request." "I should think," Harry said tensely, "That honoring Kreacher's requests would not be among Dumbledore's top priorities." "No, it was Lupin," said Ron. "Said that Kreacher just didn't know any better." "Didn't know any better?" Harry said, a bit too loudly. Hermione looked stricken. "Harry," she said, "I know what he did was downright evil, no one is excusing it. But Kreacher couldn't help what he was. He was made that way by the hateful people that kept him –" "So Sirius was hateful, was he?" snapped Harry. "Of course not," Hermione said. "So just his family was, then?" "Well, yeah, mate" Ron said, "It's nothing against Sirius. I mean, look at the Dursleys—" "Well maybe the Dursleys aren't as bad as I said," Harry said angrily, even though he felt stupid for saying it. As much as he didn't like the Dursleys, he couldn't help remembering Aunt Petunia grabbing his ankle, or the way Uncle Vernon had shielded Aunt Petunia from Lucius Malfoy... "Err, right...well, whatever you say, mate, we didn't mean...Hermione?" Ron stammered. "We didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Harry," Hermione said awkwardly. "It's alright. So what are you doing with S.P.E.W.?" "Well, not much unfortunately," Hermione said sadly, "I mean, I've been writing letter campaigns to the Ministry of Magic, trying to get some signatures on a petition, and making a list of old wizarding families that still keep house elves, but it's slow going, especially being stuck with my parents for the summer. Don't get me wrong," she added defensively, "I love them to death, and there's NOTHING wrong with having Muggle parents...it's just, you know...hard to stay in the loop with the wizarding world." "Well, maybe you'll have more luck at Hogwarts," Harry said helpfully, but secretly, he had a feeling that wouldn't be the case – after all, when had S.P.E.W. ever really been effective? "How about you, Ron?" "Well, it's been a bit mad at home," Ron said, "What with Fred and George joining the Order and all—" "They what?!" "Yeah," said Ron, "Well they've been waiting till they were of age, weren't they? And now that they are, there's not much Mum can do to stop them, though she certainly tried. Turns out they've been helping out with their Wizarding Wheezes, actually." "They have?" "Sure," Ron said excitedly, "Actually, some of the stuff they've come up with is pretty cool. Tonks and Kinglsey have been using the Extendable Ears at work, and now they've invented something like a Polyjuice Snackbox...but they daren't sell them," he added, "They're only for the Order." "How does it work?" Harry asked eagerly. "Well," Hermione said, "Exactly the same as regular Polyjuice Potion – except they've condensed the potion into a pill, and coated it with sugar so there's no taste. Plus, the effects remain until you take the other half of the pill. It's quite brilliant, actually" she added grudgingly. "And you thought it was a waste of money!" Ron said triumphantly. "I never thought it was a waste of money...only of time and energy," Hermione said rolling her eyes, "But I suppose..." "Suppose what?" Ron said, smirking. "That...the situation turned out differently than I had expected." "Meaning that you were..." "Surprised." "Nooo..." Ron said, smirking, "I'll give you a hint, it starts with a 'wr'...'wr'..." "ANYway," Hermione said coolly, "We should go downstairs, Harry...there's a school owl down there waiting for us." *********************************************************************** The three friends walked down the staircase, tiptoeing so as not to wake up Mrs. Black. Harry had the odd realization that she was completely alone in the world now. He wasn't sure whether he felt sad or satisfied by this. He nearly jumped out of his skin as he passed by the row of house-elf heads. Sure enough, there was Kreacher's despicable, wrinkled mug, mounted in perpetuity on his very own plaque. Harry had a very strong urge to punch it. Suddenly, he bumped right into Hermione, who bumped right into Ron, who had bumped right into George. "Shhh!" George hissed quietly, and handed over an extendable ear. They all dangled the flesh-colored strings over the railing, and heard Bill's voice... "—but if, in essence, it is divided, then Harry is the one to put it back together again." The phrase seemed to ring a bell with Harry. "But how?" Lupin's voice came, "He's already been through too much, he's had far too much responsibility foisted on him as it is. To heal that Divide on his own? It's preposterous." "Well, of course not on his own," Bill continued, "That's the whole point isn't it? But where are they anyway?" "Why don't you call them?" Remus said. Hermione and George were fast enough to yank the strings out of their ears, but Fred, Harry, and Ron got the brunt of it. "HEY YOU THREE!!!!!!" Bill's voice boomed in their ear. Harry ripped the string out of it, holding a hand to his ear. He could hear ringing, and it felt like someone had shoved a cotton ball into it quite forcefully. "Coming!" Hermione said. "Did he have to yell so loudly?" Ron griped. "Well, it wasn't all that loud, really," Hermione said, "It's just the Ears were—" "Come on," Harry said impatiently, I bet we got our O.W.L.s" ********************************************************************** They all entered the kitchen to find Remus conducting a large butcher knife, which was slicing some ham, as bread, lettuce, tomato, and mustard whizzed over paper plates. Several consterned owls, including Hedwig, were huddled near the stove, eyeing the flying lunchmeats with suspicion. "Almost set here," he smiled. "Brilliant," said Fred. "We're starving!" said George, "Is that Mum's ham?" "Yes," said Remus, "She said to start without them." "The Weasleys are coming?" Harry said, happily. "Sure," said Ron, "Dumbledore said to bring the whole family. He wants us to spend the night here, just to see it's all clear, and then tomorrow you'll come with us to the Burrow. But it's not for long," he said sadly, as Harry's face lit up. "Dumbledore decided that it would be a better idea for you to return to the Dursleys after all, for the last few weeks – you know, you're protected there, and besides, all the moving around will make it more difficult for V...Voldemort to trace you." Harry smiled at Hermione. She had begun to use the name quite frequently. She smiled back. Ron took an overlarge bite of sandwich and coughed. "W-we should read our OWLS, don't you think?" Hermione abruptly bounded over to the stove, and collected all the letters. At once, the three large barn owls shot out of the room, seeking at open window, while Hedwig fluttered over to Harry at the kitchen table, dropped a letter in front of him, and helped herself to a nibble off of his sandwich. "Harry, that's from the Ministry," Remus said, his brow knitting, "You'd better open that one first." Harry opened the letter, and read aloud: Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
I have sent this message with your own owl, recovered at your place of residence at Privet Drive, in the hopes that it will be able to determine your current location.  
  
We have received intelligence that you performed the following charms this evening, between the hours of four and five am:  
  
Vanishing Charm Flame Charm Silencing Charm  
  
After completion of which, a warrant was issued in order to detain you for questioning. However, you not only resisted arrest by Agents of the Improper Use of Magic Office, Division for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, but proceeded to use a Summoning Charm before exiting the building via an unregistered Floo Fire.  
  
As you have already received a warning for a previous offense (a Hover Charm) under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizard's Statue of Secrecy, and were already tried at a disciplinary hearing for the same offense (A Patronus) before the Wizengamot at the Ministry of Magic on August 12th of last year, we regret to inform you that it is the intention of Magical Law Enforcement Officials to incarcerate you, as soon as the Ministry is able to effectively determine your precise location.  
  
It would be most helpful if you would alert us to said location.  
  
Hoping to see you soon.  
  
Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk Improper Use of Magic Office Ministry of Magic  
  
Harry fell silent, and his insides gave an uncomfortable squirm. It looked certain that he was headed for Azkaban. "Oh, go on Harry," Ron said, though he looked equally nervous, "You got off last time." "All the more reason to convict me this time," he said miserably. "Wow, Harry," said Fred amiably, "You're getting almost as good as we are at getting into trouble." "Fine work," said George clapping him on the shoulder, "Proud of you, mate!" "Well, the good news is they don't know where you are," Hermione said, ignoring them briskly, "And it sounds like they're having a time trying to figure it out. And besides, Harry," she said sympathetically, "Dumbledore's never let us down yet. He wouldn't let you go to Azkaban." "Right," Harry said, unconvinced, but unwilling to debate it further. "Well, there's nothing to do about it right now," said Remus measuredly, "So why don't you open your OWLS, then?" Harry was grateful to Remus for the diversion. Besides, he could see Hermione's itchy fingers toying with the edge of the envelope. Ron, on the other hand, hadn't touched his, and had gone a bit pale. "It's like ripping off a plaster, mate," Harry said, grinning at Ron, "You're going to have to do it eventually. Might as well get it over with." "Right," Ron said. They all grabbed their envelopes. "On three, then?" Hermione said, cheerfully. Ron looked as though he were going to vomit slugs. "One..." said Harry. "Two," said Hermione. "Two and three quarters?" Ron grimaced. "Three!" The three friends tore open the envelopes. For a moment there was silence as they all read. Harry scanned his letter: Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
I have just received your official transcripts from the Wizarding Examination Authority, and will retain that copy in your file, but I am pleased to report your grades to you:  
  
Charms Theory: O Charms Practical: E Owl: Yes  
  
Transfiguration Theory: O Transfiguration Practical: E Owl: Yes  
  
Herbology Theory: O Herbology Practical: O Owl: Yes  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts Theory: O Defense Against the Dark Arts Practical: O* Owl: Honors  
  
Potions Theory: O Potions Practical: E Owl: Yes  
  
Divination Theory: P Divination Practical: D Owl: No  
  
Care of Magical Creatures Theory: O* Care of Magical Creatures Practical: O* Owl: High Honors  
  
Astronomy Theory: A Astronomy Practical: A Owl: Yes  
  
History of Magic (Theory Only): P Owl: No  
  
With regards to your choice of career, here are your required courses for the semester: Charms Transfiguration Defense Against the Dark Arts Potions History of Magic  
  
And you may select three of the following as electives. Simply tap your choice with your wand, and the required reading materials will be added to your booklist:  
  
Herbology Care of Magical Creatures Divination Astronomy Ancient Runes Arithmancy Muggle Studies  
  
Looking forward to seeing you at the start of the term.  
  
Sincerely, Professor McGonagall  
  
At the bottom of the page, written in Professor McGonagall's scrawl, was a handwritten note in her trademark emerald green ink:  
  
Mr. Potter, I was quite pleased with the results of your OWLS. It seems you are well on your way to being a fine Auror. Keep it up, Minerva McGonagall  
  
Harry was beaming. He had been expecting the poor grades in Divination, and after he'd had that horrible vision in History of Magic – well, he hadn't really been expecting to do very well in that, either. But he had absolutely no D's, and had even managed Honors in Defense Against the Dark Arts! And High Honors in Care of Magical Creatures, although he suspected that Hagrid may have had some input on that front.  
  
"Well?" Remus said, smiling.  
  
Harry did a quick count.  
  
"Seven," he replied, smiling.  
  
"Alright!" said George.  
  
"Well done Harry," said Remus, taking a sip of his butterbeer.  
  
"Ooh, let me see, Harry," said Hermione jubilantly.  
  
"I'll swap you," he said, grinning. He took a look at Hermione's page.  
  
Dear Ms. Granger,  
  
I have just received your official transcripts from the Wizarding Examination Authority, and will retain that copy in your file, but I am pleased to report your grades to you:  
  
Charms Theory: O* Charms Practical: O* Owl: High Honors  
  
Transfiguration Theory: O* Transfiguration Practical: O Owl: Honors  
  
Herbology Theory: O* Herbology Practial: O* Owl: High Honors  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts Theory: O* Defense Against the Dark Arts Practical: O* Owl: High Honors  
  
Potions Theory: O* Potions Practical: O Owl: Honors  
  
Care of Magical Creatures Theory: O* Care of Magical Creatures Practical: O* Owl: High Honors  
  
Astronomy Theory: O* Astronomy Practical: E Owl: Yes  
  
History of Magic (Theory Only): O* Owl: High Honors  
  
Hermione: Ancient Runes Reading: O* Speaking: O* Practical: O* Owl: High Honors  
  
Arithmancy (Theory Only): O* Owl: High Honors  
  
With regards to your choice of career, here are your required courses for the semester: Charms Transfiguration Defense Against the Dark Arts Potions Care of Magical Creatures  
  
I would also thoroughly recommend you take Herbology, and History of Magic, as they will both come in quite handy.  
  
You will find, Miss Granger, that this leaves you with only ONE elective to select from the list below, and I would ask that you PLEASE restrain yourself to one. If, however, you feel comfortable enough, you may select two. Three, however, is right out.  
  
Simply tap your choice with your wand, and the required reading materials will be added to your booklist:  
  
Muggle Studies Divination Astronomy Ancient Runes Arithmancy  
  
Looking forward to seeing you at the start of the term.  
  
Sincerely, Professor McGonagall  
  
"Hermione," said Harry, stunned, "You've got ten OWLS!"  
  
"TEN???" shouted George. Fred spat out his mouthful of butterbeer, and snatched the paper out of Harry's hands.  
  
"Be careful!" Hermione said, but quickly quieted under George's glare.  
  
"You've got seven High Honors and two Honors," George said disgustedly, as though accusing her of something very embarrassing.  
  
"Well, I did miss that one for Astronomy," Hermione said modestly, but her eyes were twinkling. Fred made a subtle gagging gesture as he walked behind George.  
  
"That's fine work, Hermione," said Lupin, "Your parents are going to be very proud of you."  
  
"Alright ickle Ronniekins, you'd better turn out to be more of a disappointment than this lot, or I'm going to disown you," said George.  
  
But Ron had gone rather green, and was staring as though transfixed at the letter he held in his hands.  
  
"Ron...how'd you do?" said Hermione, feigning casual curiosity.  
  
Harry quietly reached up and tugged gently on the paper. Ron didn't release it at first. Then he looked up, startled, and made eye contact with Harry. The green was tinged by a slight flush, and he released the paper.  
  
Dear Mr. Weasley,  
  
I have just received your official transcripts from the Wizarding Examination Authority, and will retain that copy in your file. Here are your grades.  
  
Charms Theory: A Charms Practical: A Owl: Yes  
  
Transfiguration Theory: E Transfiguration Practical: A Owl: Yes  
  
Herbology Theory: O Herbology Practical: O* Owl: Honors  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts Theory: O Defense Against the Dark Arts Practical: O Owl: Yes  
  
Potions Theory: A Potions Practical: A Owl: No  
  
Divination Theory: D Divination Practical: D Owl: No  
  
Care of Magical Creatures Theory: O* Care of Magical Creatures Practical: O* Owl: High Honors  
  
Astronomy Theory: P Astronomy Practical: P Owl: No  
  
History of Magic (Theory Only): P Owl: No  
  
With regards to your choice of career, here are the courses that would be required for the semester: Charms Transfiguration Defense Against the Dark Arts Potions History of Magic  
  
I am sure that you have noticed however, that you have not attained the necessary number of OWLS, nor the necessary grade levels to make this career a possibility. You will need to meet with me for another consultation.  
  
It is possible, however, that you will be able to pull your grades up significantly this year, in which case, you would be considered for the NEWT level courses you would require for your career choice (I am speaking particularly about your Potions and Charms work.) However, it is my advice that you also begin considering a second career choice.  
  
You may select three of the following as electives. Simply tap your choice with your wand, and the required reading materials will be added to your booklist:  
  
Herbology Care of Magical Creatures Divination Astronomy Ancient Runes Arithmancy Muggle Studies  
  
Looking forward to seeing you at the start of the term.  
  
Sincerely, Professor McGonagall  
  
Mr. Weasley, I know that this will probably come as a disappointment to you. Still, you have attained five OWLS with both an Honors and a High Honors OWL. That is more than many Hogwarts students could claim this year, and I am sure your parents and friends will be very proud of you. As far as your chosen career, it is my experience that when a door closes, a window opens. And remember, you have done Gryffindor proud in ways that are completely unconnected to your academics – Professor Dumbledore is fond of saying you can put a grade on an OWL, but not a Wizard. Keep working hard, and you just might get into those NEWT levels in Year Seven. Chin up, Minerva McGonagall.  
  
"Alright then!" said George, thumping Ron on the back, "Well done!"  
  
"Finally," said Fred, eyeing Hermione and Harry over Ron's shoulder, "A true friend who doesn't try to make us look too bad!"  
  
"Boys..." said Lupin, for Ron had gone quite red, and was studying the kitchen floor very intensely.  
  
"Ron," said Harry, "It's alright...I mean, you got five OWLS! That's not bad, and you've even got High Honors, look—"  
  
"Whatever," Ron said, "It's only because of Hagrid."  
  
"And Herbology!" said Hermione a little too cheerfully, "That was all on your own!"  
  
"Herbology's for duffers," said Ron loudly, "I only got Honors because it's easy."  
  
"I don't think the people who failed Herbology would feel that way," said Lupin gently, "You still did better than a lot of people who—"  
  
"Look, it doesn't matter anyway, because—" and he broke off. There was a very long pause where he held his breath. "Forget it."  
  
Harry and Hermione looked at each other miserably. Even Fred and George seemed very abashed, and they took large bites of their sandwiches. Somehow, the fact that they couldn't find anything funny to say made it all seem much worse.  
  
Lupin slid a fresh butterbeer across the table. "You know," he said, "Dumbledore always used to say, that you can put a grade on an OWL, but you can't—"  
  
"Just!...just...nevermind," Ron said angrily, "You know for once, I thought maybe – just – nevermind!" and he sat with a thump at the table and bit half of his sandwich off in one bite, and somehow managed to take a swig of butterbeer with it.  
  
Harry went back to his sandwich. The mood was considerably darker.  
  
"So, er, Hermione," Harry ventured, "What was your career choice?"  
  
"Oh," she said, "I've been thinking of—"  
  
But just then a large barn owl swooped in, and landed in front of Harry with another Ministry letter.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Grateful for the diversion, Harry seized the envelope.  
  
"Wonder what this is about?" he said loudly and concernedly.  
  
"Better open it, Harry," said Hermione unnecessarily, for he had already begun opening it.  
  
Everyone seemed very relieved to take a deep breath and stare very hard at Harry. He opened the letter, and read aloud:  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
Further to our letter of approximately ten minutes ago, Albus Dumbledore has arrived at the Ministry of Magic, and is currently discussing the situation with Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, Agents of the Improper Use of Magic office, and myself.  
  
He has instructed you to remain where you are, at said undisclosed location, and wishes to alert you that further updates are impending.  
  
As of this moment, it is still the intention of the Ministry to arrange a disciplinary hearing before the Wizengamot, which would ultimately lead to your incarceration.  
  
Hoping you are well.  
  
Mafalda Hopkirk Improper Use of Magic Office Ministry of Magic  
  
"Well," said Lupin, sounding a bit amused, "We knew Dumbledore would come to the rescue. Sounds as if—"  
  
But yet another brown owl had landed on the table.  
  
"What's this one?" Harry said.  
  
"It's another one from the Ministry!" said Fred. "Wow, you must really have them annoyed!" said George.  
  
Harry dubiously opened the envelope and began to read again.  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
Further to our letter of approximately two minutes ago, the Ministry has waived all warrants currently issued against you. There will be no disciplinary hearing.  
  
It is also the inexplicable decision of the Minister to allow Albus Dumbledore to grant certain of his students waivers which would allow them to perform magic outside of Hogwarts School strictly for defensive purposes, or Official Hogwarts Business, (the circumstances of which must be submitted in writing to the Minister of Magic) and has issued said permits to various Hogwarts students, including yourself, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley, which you will find reluctantly enclosed.  
  
The Obliviators have been dispatched to your neighborhood, the Minister is furious, and I and my entire team are under review.  
  
I hope you are amused.  
  
Sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk Improper Use of Magic Office Ministry of Magic  
  
They couldn't help it. Harry and Hermione and Ron all looked at each other and began to chuckle. Fred and George soon joined in, and the fog of doom that had surrounded Ron's OWLS lifted and dispersed.  
  
"I'm starving," Ron said, tucking into the last few bites of his sandwich.  
  
"You finished that one fast enough," Hermione said, but her eyes were twinkling.  
  
"Well, tuck in," said Lupin, his eyes shining merrily at Harry, "And then you lot should probably get some rest."  
  
Just then, the fireplace flashed green, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came stooping out of the fire.  
  
"Hi Mum, Dad!" chorused the Weasleys.  
  
"Hello Mr. Weasley, Mrs. We--"  
  
"It's Molly, dear! You can certainly call me Molly by now," said Mrs. Weasley patting Hermione on the head, "And Harry dear..."  
  
She crossed the room and mashed Harry's head into her bosom, petting his hair and tutting.  
  
"Errr..."  
  
"It's just wonderful to see you, Harry."  
  
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley..."  
  
"Molly dear, Molly," she said fondly.  
  
"Hello Harry! Good lord, you've grown a bit, haven't you? Stand next to Ron."  
  
The two boys stood up next to each other and Harry was surprised to see that he had to look up a bit further than usual to meet Ron's eyes.  
  
"Well now! Looks like you have too, Ron!"  
  
"Our Ickle Ronniekins isn't so ickle anymore!" said Fred, batting his eyelashes dotingly.  
  
"It'll be a wonder if you can still get on a broomstick!" said George.  
  
Ron's eyes lit up a bit more. "Oooh! Mum, Dad, can we ride our brooms for a --"  
  
"Absolutely not!" said Mrs. Weasley sternly, "That's all we need, is you flying about above the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix!"  
  
"Oh...right," Ron said sadly.  
  
"Don't worry dear, we'll all be heading to the Burrow tomorrow, you can play Quidditch then. Now--"  
  
But she stopped mid-sentence, having spied the open envelopes littering the table.  
  
"Oh Ronnie," she whispered.  
  
"Five," he said mopily.  
  
"Oh! Ronnie!" she said happily, "Well that's -- that's just fine."  
  
"Not 'fine' enough for Auror though, is it?" he said moodily.  
  
"Oh, Ronnie," Mrs. Weasley began.  
  
"Stop saying that!" Ron said irritably. There was an ominous pause.  
  
"Err, sorry," he said, "I'm just...you know."  
  
"I know you had your heart set on being an Auror, son," said Mr. Weasley sitting down and taking a bite out of Lupin's sandwich without seeming to realize it, "But I only got six OWLS, and look at me! I found a great job!"  
  
"Er..Yeah, Dad," Ron said, smiling at his Dad. Harry new that Ron would rather eat his own left foot than work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, but he also knew that he would never look down on his father the way Percy had.  
  
"Well!" said Mrs. Weasley, "How about you two?"  
  
"Seven," Harry reported.  
  
"Ten," said Hermione, a bit embarrassed.  
  
"Oh my goodness!" said Mrs. Weasley, "well, we shall have to arrange a little something at the Burrow for tomorrow night! I think a nice family dinner is in order - and speaking of which, perhaps we should invite the rest of the Order - we've all been so busy, it would be nice to be all in the same place for once."  
  
Harry smiled, and yawned at the same time. As though contagious, Ron and Hermione soon followed.  
  
"Look at you three! Right!" said Mrs. Weasley, "Off to bed with you! You can have a nice nap before dinner. And no talking!" she said, eyeing them suspiciously, "You'll have plenty of time to catch up!"  
  
For once Harry was grateful for Mrs. Weasley's interference...while he would have loved to spend the time chatting with Ron and Hermione, he could barely keep his eyes open. He reflected that less than a day ago, he had had that horrible dream, and was chased out of his home by the Ministry of Magic.  
  
The three friends rose from the table, bid goodnight to everyone, and mounted the stairs sleepily.  
  
"Well, have a good sleep you two," said Hermione.  
  
"Don't be daft!" said Ron, "Crash with us. We'll push the beds together and sleep sideways."  
  
"Oh, I couldn't," said Hermione politely, "I'll just head up to our room...Ginny's already napping up there."  
  
"Suit yourself," said Ron. He sounded casual, yet a bit deliberately so. Harry smiled to himself.  
  
Minutes later, he and Ron had kicked off their jeans, and each were snuggling under their crisp, cool, unused sheets. The house still had a bit of a stale, musty smell, but was cool, and dark, and clean now.  
  
"She's looking well, isn't she?" said Ron, "A bit taller."  
  
"Yeah," said Harry. He hadn't intended to notice, but Hermione's shirts were...well, not quite fitting as they used to.  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, yawning, "Taller."  
  
Harry drifted off to sleep.  
  
********************************************************************* In his dream, Harry was looking into the Mirror of Erised. He saw himself standing with Ron and Hermione. They were smiling, and Hermione had flowers in her hair. Harry smiled, and put an arm over each of their shoulders. Suddenly though, his face began to shift. It became blank and white, with red eyes, and slits for nostrils. His long, bony fingers clutched the meat of Ron's arm, and Hermione's shoulder. They began to struggle in vain to get away from him. A triumphant laugh emerged from his thin, bloodless lips, even as the panic welled within him. Suddenly, Sirius emerged from the shadows, gliding over to him, his expression surprised and fixed, his head inclined at an odd angle.  
  
"Why did you kill me, Harry?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.  
  
Harry woke up in a cold sweat, his scar prickling. He heard the last remnants of a high, cold laugh dying in his ears.  
  
He listened for another few minutes, but all he could hear was Ron snoring quietly across the room. There was a quiet tap on the door.  
  
"Boys?...Boys?"  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley?"  
  
"Time for dinner. Wake Ron up, would you dear?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
The footsteps receded. Harry took a deep breath, and pressed his palm into his scar.  
  
"GO AWAY," he thought as clearly as possible, "YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE."  
  
He took another deep breath, and tried to empty himself of all thought, all feeling. All he felt was even more anger and anxiety.  
  
He stared at the blank, dingy wall across the room, and imagined a rock in the center of his mind. With each breath he drew, an ocean wave swept over it, wearing it down, and with each exhale, he imagined just a tiny bit of his worry and anger being eroded away with it.  
  
The prickling in his scar slowly faded. Giving himself a mental pat on the back (and reflecting that Occlumency was much easier without Snape looming over him like a murderous old bat) he sat up in bed, reached over with his foot, and kicked Ron gently in the rump.  
  
"NNnngg....Gerroff, Ginny," Ron muttered.  
  
"It's Harry, mate. Come on, time for dinner."  
  
They arrived in the kitchen, hair mussed and smacking their lips, to find the entire Weasley clan, Remus, and Hermione sitting at the kitchen table, which was groaning under the weight of a large turkey curry, buttermilk biscuits, and bangers and mash.  
  
"Oh, good boys, now sit down so we can tuck in."  
  
"I hope we didn't keep you waiting," Harry said, hurrying to his chair.  
  
"Relax," Ron said, grinning, "It's just us."  
  
"You're with family, Harry," Mr. Weasley said warmly.  
  
Harry felt something warm shift in his chest. For a moment he felt as though he would cry, but quickly stamped the impulse.  
  
"Thanks," he said.  
  
"Well, don't stand on ceremony! Dig in!" said Mrs. Weasley. They all set to with a will, and for a few minutes, all that could be heard was the clink of silverware, chewing, and groans of appreciation.  
  
"Oi," said George, nudging Harry in the ribs, "Mind if we see your booklist? We didn't get any this year."  
  
"THAT," said Mrs. Weasley, "is because you saw fit not to RETURN and FINISH your seventh year..."  
  
"Muuuuum," said Fred, "We've been through all this..."  
  
"Perhaps later, dear," said Mr. Weasley. Then, before she could open her mouth, he said, "Hermione, would you be so kind as to pass the biscuits? Molly, you've really outdone yourself here – this is enough for ten people!"  
  
"Well, Arthur, if you were to count on your fingers, I think you'd see there are ten of us," she said wryly. George snorted into his butterbeer.  
  
"Yes, well, still," Mr. Weasley said, going a bit red, "Well done."  
  
"That booklist, Harry?" George asked.  
  
"Here you go," Harry said, laying it flat on the table between them.  
  
Booklist: Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 N.E.W.T. Level Transfiguration, W.E.A. edition Practical Defensive Magic, by Haydn Kauer Practical Hex Work, by Amy Fyre The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord, by A.P. Herodites N.E.W.T. Level Potions, W.E.A. edition  
  
"Why do you want it?" he asked.  
  
"To see what the Defense books are this year. Trying to figure out who the new Defense teacher is."  
  
"Would you pass the curry, Molly?" said Remus politely. Harry thought there was something strange in the way he asked it.  
  
"Hmmm...well, whoever it is means business," said Fred, "Look, 'Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord...' No Ministry officials here!"  
  
"Errr..." said Lupin.  
  
"Ooo! Maybe Dumbledore himself will be teaching it!" squirmed Ginny happily.  
  
"Anything would be better than Umbridge," Ron said.  
  
"Err..."  
  
"Too right!" said George thumping the table, "Old bat."  
  
"Though she did provide some fine opportunities for mischief making."  
  
"Ooo, reminds me – Harry, did they ever clear the swamp?" George asked, his eyes shining.  
  
"Ahem," Lupin said a bit louder. Harry and the rest turned to look at him, and Harry caught Mr. and Mrs. Weasley grinning at each other in the quiet.  
  
"Oh, you're joking!" shrieked Hermione happily, and Harry's heart skipped a beat.  
  
"What? Who's joking?" Ron asked, bewildered.  
  
"I...errr...well, Dumbledore has been...so kind as to..." Remus stammered.  
  
"But I thought they wouldn't let you come back!" Ron shouted, catching on.  
  
"And you told me," Harry said, "That you didn't want to come back – you were afraid to put the students in danger."  
  
"Well, yes, of course," Lupin said, seemingly gratified that they were so pleased, "But times have changed, Harry. With the return of the Dark Lord being made public by the Ministry, nobody would touch the job with a ten foot pole. And it seems," he smiled, "that many of my former students have been saying nice things to their parents about me, and some of those parents are on the School Council. At least they seem to have decided that with Voldemort on the loose, it's better to have a werewolf teaching Defense than to have no one teaching it at all."  
  
"Oh, Snape is going to have kittens!" George said joyfully.  
  
Ginny nearly sprayed her pumpkin juice across the table.  
  
"Ginny dear," Mrs. Weasley admonished, handing her a napkin.  
  
"Well, yes," Lupin said, smiling, "That is one of the many job perks. But I did have to agree to leave the school every full moon," he added seriously.  
  
"The Shrieking Shack?" Hermione ventured.  
  
"Err...no," Lupin said quietly.  
  
"Why not?" she asked, puzzled. There was an awkward silence.  
  
"I don't much...care to see the Shrieking Shack...ever again."  
  
There was a palpable quiet, in which Mrs. Weasley put her hand over Lupin's and patted it gently.  
  
"Well, perhaps you could just lock yourself in your office then?" Harry ventured.  
  
"No. Hagrid offered to let me stay in his cabin, but I think it is best if I leave school grounds entirely. I will most likely take Floo Powder back here, to Grimmauld place. As long as I take my potion, I should be fine. Speaking of which," he added, turning to the Weasleys, "Please don't let Severus forget to leave my regular dosage on the stove."  
  
"Of course not," Arthur said cheerfully.  
  
"Severus?" Ron said, wiltingly, "You mean Snape is coming here tonight?"  
  
"Professor Snape," said Lupin and the Weasleys simultaneously.  
  
"Right, whatever, he coming, then?"  
  
"Yes," said Lupin smiling, "But I daresay you'll be asleep by the time he arrives."  
  
Harry's blood chilled a bit at the mention of Snape. "Still [I]spying,[/I] then, is he? Sneaking about Voldemort, sniffing at his pants legs?" he spat, bitterly.  
  
Everyone at the table seemed taken aback – it was not only that Harry had said The Name, he had spoken with such sudden vehemence.  
  
"Well, in a word, yes," Lupin said, "That is his job, Harry."  
  
"Sometimes I don't wonder if he likes his job," Harry muttered under his breath.  
  
"This isn't really dinner conversation," Mrs. Weasley said firmly, "Hermione! Congratulations again on your OWLS, dear."  
  
"Oh, really?" Bill said, his fang jangling in his ear as he turned to look at her, "How'd you do, Hermione?"  
  
"It's not really..." Hermione began to mutter.  
  
"Ten!"Mrs. Weasley effused, "With Honors, and High Honors!"  
  
"Well done!" said Charlie. Hermione blushed.  
  
"You'd think she was her daughter," Ron muttered under his breath, but only Harry seemed to hear him.  
  
"And how'd you do, Ron?" asked Charlie.  
  
"Honors and High Honors!" Mr. Weasley beamed, "Five OWLS!"  
  
"Really? Well, Ron, that's good solid work!" Charlie said. Harry smiled – he had a feeling Charlie hadn't gotten a heck of a lot of OWLS either, but he hadn't met anyone with a more gregarious nature. Ron would be fine – he would find a career that suited him, just like Charlie. 


	2. Chapter Two

"Oo, that reminds me," said Hermione, "We should choose our electives."  
  
They each took out their Hogwarts Letter and studied it carefully. Harry looked at his list of electives: Herbology Care of Magical Creatures Divination Astronomy Ancient Runes Arithmancy Muggle Studies  
  
"Well," Harry said, "I didn't take entry level Ancient Runes, or Arithmancy, so those are out. I don't really think I need Muggle Studies..."  
  
"Oh, are you [I]sure,[/I] Harry?" Mr. Weasley said with a pained expression, "It was my favorite course at Hogwarts."  
  
"Daaaaad," Ron said, embarrassed.  
  
"Right, sorry," Mr. Weasley said amiably, "It's just you know I'm a nut for eclectricity and what not— "  
  
"Well, Care of Magical Creatures, definitely," said Ron, "Besides, Hermione's taking it too."  
  
"Alright," Harry said, "So that leaves Herbology, Divination, and Astronomy."  
  
"Well, I'm sick of star charts. You can always just buy them after you graduate anyway."  
  
"Ron!" said Mrs. Weasley, "That is no substitute for knowing—"  
  
"Mum," said Bill, "When was the last time you did any spellwork without using a star chart?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley blushed, "That's not the point, Bill!"  
  
"Right, so, no Astronomy. Are we done?"  
  
"Looks like," Harry said, "Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Divination with Firenze. Not too bad."  
  
Ron screwed up his face for a moment, "D'you think I could take Astronomy and make Potions an elective?"  
  
"Not if you want to take it in your seventh year, for a NEWT level," Hermione said.  
  
There was an uncomfortable pause.  
  
"Come on, Hermione," Ron said quietly, "It's over."  
  
"Oh no it's not," Hermione said, and Harry saw the spark in her eyes that she most frequently had when she spoke about house elves, "If it's Auror you want, Ron, it's Auror you'll get. I'll make sure of it."  
  
"What're you going to do, jinx Snape for me?" Ron said hopefully.  
  
"No," she said icily, "I'm going to make you study for once."  
  
"I study!" Ron protested, catching a stern glance from his mother, "I do! Loads!"  
  
Hermione simply looked down at her place, and directed a very dubious expression at her leftover chicken.  
  
"Oh man!" Ron said, sulkily, "Just what I needed this year, extra Potions homework." His expression brightened suddenly, "Well, at least I can do magic! That's something, isn't it?"  
  
"Hang on," said Mrs. Weasley cautiously, "What do you mean you can do magic?"  
  
"Oh, we got these passes, from Dumbledore, see?" Ron said gleefully flinging one across the table for his mother to look over. A dreamy expression took over his face, "I can't wait to tell Malfoy."  
  
"Absolutely not," said Lupin sternly, "These aren't toys, Ron. If you abuse these privileges, the Ministry might revoke them. You're only to use magic in an emergency, or to help the Order."  
  
"Would it be helping the Order if we were to turn Malfoy into a bouncing ferret again?" Harry said smirking. Ginny giggled, and Hermione tried to scowl, but the image was clearing tugging at the corners of her mouth.  
  
"As appealing as that might sound," Lupin said, smiling, "I don't think it would help the Order very much, no."  
  
"Ron," said Mrs. Weasley sternly, "If I hear of you...transfiguring anyone this year, so help me—"  
  
"Molly," said Remus, diverting her attention, "I wonder if it isn't time for dessert?"  
  
"What?" she said, irritatedly, "Oh! Oh, yes. Of course," she said, "I'll go get it." She gave Ron a stern poke in the back of the head as she walked by. He scowled and mussed up his hair again. Harry grinned and turned to Hermione.  
  
"What are you going to take?"  
  
"Well, I'm definitely taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. And I thought I'd carry on with Muggle Studies."  
  
"Hermione?" said Ron, "You do realize your parents are Muggles?"  
  
"And?" Hermione said defensively, her bushy hair seeming to poof up even more.  
  
"Ron didn't mean anything by it," Harry said quickly, "But err, you do know how to operate a telephone by now, don't you think?"  
  
"Well, yes...but...an outside perspective..."  
  
"She's just trying to grub for more grades," Ron said dismissively, reaching for more biscuits, "Can't get ten NEWTS if you only sit nine exams, can you?"  
  
"I—!" began Hermione, but seemed to get stuck with her mouth open, and abruptly closed it, blushing furiously.  
  
Harry smiled, and tapped Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Herbology on his course list. No new books appeared, but the rest of the electives disappeared, and a small note in green ink read, "Your courses have been scheduled. See you soon." Harry looked up to see the others tapping their sheets.  
  
Remus emerged from a conversation with Bill and smiled at them. "All settled then?"  
  
"Looks like," Harry grinned. Suddenly, a searing pain ripped through his forehead. Hot burning anger surged through him – he was livid with rage and frustration. He curled his thin, long white fingers into a fist and slammed them into the table.  
  
"M-M-Master – what could I do? I went there, I looked, there was nobody!"  
  
"Luck," Harry hissed, "Dumb luck. No matter. We can still make...an example..."  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Harry abruptly came back to reality as though he fell there. He was standing at the table, and he felt a dull throbbing in his clenched fist. Everyone was staring at him. He instantly felt a hot wave of shame and sat down.  
  
"What is it, Harry? Was it Voldemort?"  
  
There was a loud crash. Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway, her flowery housecoat and shoes covered in cake and icing which once read, "Happy Birthday, Harry."  
  
"W-what happened?" she said.  
  
"Voldemort," Harry said, shakily, "He...it's the Burrow."  
  
Mr. Weasley sprang up out of his chair, as did Bill and Charlie.  
  
"No!" shouted Harry, "He could be there right now! He's...he's angry. He sent Wormtail...Pettigrew...but nobody was home. He..."  
  
He hesitated. Ginny, Fred, and George were looking at him with the same, mistrusting look, as though to say, "Now what? Every time you open your mouth..."  
  
He took a deep breath, and reflected that now he knew how Dumbledore felt.  
  
"He what?!" George said angrily, anxiously.  
  
"He said he could still make an example out of you."  
  
Suddenly there was a loud bang from the hallway, and seconds later, Pigwidgeon and Errol swooped into the room in a panic. Pig flew straight to Ron, landed in his lap, wiggled his way under his shirt.  
  
"Oi!" said Ron, "What is it?! What's happened?" but Pig just stayed there, trembling.  
  
"That's it!" Ron said, standing up, and whipping his wand out of his jeans pocket, "I'm going!"  
  
"Oh no you're not!" said Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"Yes we are!" said Fred and George standing up.  
  
"Why did they give us these licenses then?" Ron bellowed angrily, "You heard Harry – Voldemort could be there right now!" Harry noticed that Ron said the name without even flinching.  
  
"You can stop Ron," said Fred grimly. "But there's no stopping us. We're in the Order, now" said George.  
  
"YOU MAY BE IN THE ORDER, GEORGE WEASLEY, BUT I AM STILL YOUR MOTHER!"  
  
Bill stood and put a hand on their shoulders, urging them to their seats, "Come on you two, you said it yourself – you're in the Order now – you can't play right into his hands, even if you want to."  
  
"So what?" bellowed Ron, "We just stay here?!" He turned to Harry and Hermione. "Are you coming?"  
  
"What?" Harry said, completely startled out of all tact.  
  
"VOLDEMORT!" bellowed Ron, and even Harry was thoroughly taken aback. "Are you two coming with me or not?"  
  
"Ron," said Hermione, "We can't just go running off – remember last time, V- Voldemort might just be using Harry—"  
  
"Even if he's not, Ron," said Harry, "if the Burrow is where he is, we need to be as far from there as possible...everyone's here," he said gesturing around the room, "We're safe for now."  
  
"SAFE??" Ron bellowed, and he grabbed his chair and turned it over violently.  
  
"Really!" said Hermione.  
  
"SURE!" Ron said, "It's fine when we've got to go charging off to rescue some Sorceror's Stone, or run pell-mell into a Ministry full of Death Eaters to save Sirius, but when it's MY HOME you—"  
  
"TAKE – THAT- BACK!" Harry roared, whipping out his wand and pointing it at Ron. Ron had gone quite pale and was shaking with anger. The silence in the room roared.  
  
Suddenly, the fireplace roared to life, and Mad Eye Moody came tumbling out onto the kitchen floor. An instant later, there was a loud crack and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks came speeding in from the hallway, just as a bright flame flashed, and a single red feather fell to the center of the table, where Dumbledore immediately materialized, Fawkes resting on his arm.  
  
"Is everyone alright," Dumbledore said quickly, stepping down from the table, "Are you all accounted for?"  
  
"We're here, Albus," said Mr. Weasley quickly, "Is everyone else alright?"  
  
"They were gone by the time we got there," Mad Eye said, stumping over to the table. His magical eye focused on Harry, "You've all already heard then?"  
  
"Harry had another vision," Lupin said quickly, "Albus, what's happened?"  
  
"The Dark Mark," Tonks said, her eyes brimming with tears, "W..We saw it...over your house. We thought for sure...that y-you'd all..." and she sank to the floor, her back resting against the brick wall, sobbing quietly.  
  
"She's never seen it before," Kingsley said quietly.  
  
"Combat, I can handle," she protested gaspingly, "I'm not afraid I just...just..."  
  
"It's alright dear," Mrs. Weasley said kindly, "We're all fine," but Harry could hear the tension in her voice.  
  
"What happened?!" Ron demanded. Harry saw Ginny's eyes were wide as saucers, and unbeknownst to anyone else, she was clasping Ron's hand with both of hers.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence. Nobody seemed to want to say. Mad Eye said gruffly, "Burning. Right now. There's no saving it."  
  
Mrs. Weasley let out a low moan, and sank into a chair next to Arthur, who put his arm around her.  
  
"Now now, love...come on, it's only a house."  
  
Ron, Fred, and George had already stood up and were walking purposefully to the fireplace.  
  
"Boys!" said Dumbledore sternly. His expression softened, "The Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement are there now, they're trying to put out the fire. There's nothing else you can do."  
  
"Like hell!" bellowed Fred, and strode towards the fire.  
  
"FRED!!!" shouted Mrs. Weasley deafeningly, and all heads snapped towards her, "You will not speak to the Headmaster that way. Don't you think he has all our best interests at heart?"  
  
Reluctantly, the three boys slunk back to the table and sat down.  
  
"We should go back," Kingsley said slowly, and Harry noticed for the first time that his face was shiny with sweat and besmirched with smoke, "Tonks and I – well, we just wanted to see that you were alright. Come on then, Nymphadora," he said, extending his hand.  
  
"S'Tonks," she said, sniffing and rubbing her tears in a business-like manner, "Not Nymphadora," and she took his hand. "Right," she said, sounding like her old self, "On the case. And don't you worry," she said to Ron, lowering her voice menacingly, "We're going to find those bastards, and we're going to nail them, and no mistake."  
  
"Go!" said Arthur, and with a loud crack, they had Apparated.  
  
Hermione jumped to her feet, "My parents! What'll I do? What if— "and she looked at Ron and then at Harry, horrified.  
  
"You mean what if you're next?" Ron said coldly.  
  
"Ronald Weasley, that will do!" shouted Mr. Weasley.  
  
All the Weasley sons and daughters sat up straight, their eyes wide as saucers. Harry knew – when Mr. Weasley raised his voice, discussion had come to a close.  
  
Dumbledore closed his eyes and muttered a few words under his breath. The whole room watched him.  
  
"Hermione," he said, crouching next to her, "Tell me your address. Whisper it!" he added quickly, as she opened her mouth. Hermione put her hand to his ear and whispered something quietly. Dumbledore nodded, and stood. He muttered a few more words, and gave a quick, complicated flick of his wand. There was a palpable burst of powerful magic that reflected off of him like ripples in a pond, blowing all of their hair back.  
  
Dumbledore heaved a weary sigh, "They are safe," he said. With a weary flick of his hand, he conjured a squashy purple armchair (as there was no room at the table) and sat down.  
  
"Our house," Ginny said, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. She looked around the room, not seeming to meet anyone's eye, and then settled on Harry's. "Our house!" she sobbed, and broke down onto Ron's shoulder. He put his arms around her and patted her head.  
  
"Come on now," Mr. Weasley said, his arms still around Mrs. Weasley, who had stopped crying now, and simply stared at the oak table, "It could have been worse! Much worse! We're all alive, and well. We have each other."  
  
Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie were all exchanging glances. Ron was still preoccupied with a bawling Ginny.  
  
"As long as we have each other," he continued, "We'll be fine."  
  
There was a calm finality in the way he said it that seemed to soothe them all.  
  
"Oh my Gosh!" Harry said, his heart giving a painful jerk of panic, "The Dursleys!"  
  
Dumbledore went pale, and stroked Fawkes's feathery back.  
  
"Number Four, Privet Drive," he said hoarsely, and with a flash of golden fire, he was gone.  
  
In the silence that was left behind, Harry's insides squirmed with guilt. He had brought disaster to the people he most cared about – just an hour ago, Mrs. Weasley had called him family. The remnants of his sixteenth birthday cake were still laying on the floor, the broken plate and candles scattered haphazardly.  
  
"Reparo," he said glumly, and the plate came back together. Standing slowly, he brought it over to the sink, and began to wash it.  
  
"Harry dear, don't bother," Mrs. Weasley said, standing, "I'll do it."  
  
"No," Harry said awkwardly, "You made it for me – I'll do it."  
  
"Harry," Ron said quietly. Harry shuffled around to face him, but looked at the laces of his trainers.  
  
"I...err..." Ron stammered, "Let me help."  
  
He tried to stand up, but Ginny was still clinging to his arm.  
  
"It's alright, Ron," said Harry, relieved, "I can do it."  
  
"Sit down now." Mrs. Weasley said abruptly.  
  
Harry meekly slunk back to his seat, as Mrs. Weasley took over cleaning up. They could hear her start to cry again, and Mr. Weasley went and stood next to her, his arm around her waist.  
  
"It's just like when Mr. Weasley was attacked," thought Harry dismally, "Only ten times worse."  
  
Their faces were illuminated by another flash of golden fire, and Dumbeldore rematerialized, though this time, safely in the corner of the room.  
  
"The Dursleys are fine for now," he said, holding up a hand to stem Harry's anxious expression, "Tonks and Mad-Eye volunteered personally to stay the night on guard duty. But you will need to choose a Secret Keeper soon, Harry. Time is of the essence."  
  
"It's alright! I've chosen!" Harry said, "Just...er...say the words."  
  
"I cannot be your Secret Keeper, Harry," said Dumbledore sadly, and Harry felt his heart sink, "It's just what Voldemort would expect. Besides, I am now Hermione's Secret Keeper – if I were to crack, the both of you would be betrayed. As harsh as it sounds, Harry, I am not the best basket to put all of your eggs into."  
  
"Fine then," said Harry, irritated, "Lupin."  
  
"I would be honored, Dumbledore," said Lupin.  
  
"Again," said Dumbledore, "Just what Voldemort would expect. You need to be very careful now, Harry, because the Dark Lord knows by now who you value and who you might choose.  
  
Harry looked around the room at his friends – his family.  
  
"But if – if I don't chose someone I care about," he said frustratedly, "How can I trust them?!"  
  
"I cannot answer for you Harry," said Dumbledore gravely, "This is your decision alone. Choose carefully, but quickly. I will need an answer by the start of term. Until then, Tonks and Mad-Eye both have agreed to keep watch at your home as long as is necessary. I'm sure others in the Order, like Arabella, and Mundungus would be more than happy to volunteer as well."  
  
"And what about our home?" said George levelly, deliberately trying not to betray any emotion.  
  
"Where are we going to live?" Ginny said fearfully, her face still half- pressed into Ron's arm. There were small, dark spots all over the fabric of his T-shirt, and Harry felt his heart wrenched in half again with guilt.  
  
"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding a bit more like herself, "I suppose we'll just have to hunker down here for now. Oh, don't fret," she said at the horrified expression on their faces, "It's only for now, until we...well, until we can settled. And you'll all be off to school soon," she turned to Bill and Charlie, "And you two practically live here anyway..."  
  
"We'll manage," Charlie said brightly, though a bit falsely.  
  
"I am terribly sorry," said Dumbledore, "but I must return to the Burrow. The Minister is waiting there for me."  
  
"Yes, of course, go!" said Mr. Weasley.  
  
With another flash of golden fire, he was gone, yet almost immediately after, there was a flash of green fire in the fireplace, and Percy Weasley came tumbling head over heels into the kitchen.  
  
"MUM! DAD!" he shouted, as he struggled to stand up.  
  
"PERCY! OH, PERCY!" cried Mrs. Weasley, dashing from the sink, and throwing her arms around his neck.  
  
Percy attached himself to her as though he would never let go, but quickly staggered around, his eyes scanning the room. Harry saw his lips moving – counting.  
  
"We're all here, Percy," Mr. Weasley said stiffly.  
  
Percy closed his eyes, and trembled as Mrs. Weasley wept onto his shoulder. When he opened them, though, his eyes alighted on Harry.  
  
"YOU!!!" he shouted. He tore himself away from his mother's grabbing hands, and had half-way climbed over the table, before Charlie and Bill had dashed over, and flattened him over the edge of it.  
  
"YOU!" he said again, "OUR HOUSE! M-MY...MY BABY SISTER! GET – YOU – "  
  
"Impedimenta!" shouted Mr. Weasley, and Percy's legs were no longer of use to him. Clinging to the table, he turned to look at his father, stunned.  
  
"I TOLD you!" he shouted, pointing at Harry, "I warned you about him, and did anyone listen to me?! We could have died tonight! We could have been burned alive, or worse, we've already lost our home—"  
  
"Harry Potter is not to blame, Percy!" said Lupin sternly, "Voldemort is the cause of all this. Blaming Harry is like blaming your house for being flammable."  
  
"He is flammable!" shouted Percy, "He's a target! I knew he and Dumbledore would be the ruin of this family, not because they're wrong, but because they are TARGETS! Do you really want to be hexed with the same wand that – "  
  
"HARRY POTTER IS FAMILY, AND YOU ARE OUT OF ORDER!" bellowed Mr. Weasley. Harry felt himself slinking down in his chair, and saw that Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were doing the same.  
  
Percy had gone white, and was shaking. He straightened himself up to his full height, and ran a hand over his hair, which was straggled all over his face.  
  
"I am glad," he said, breathing heavily, "To see you are all well. I have to return to the Ministry – Fudge will be needing me. When you come to your senses...if you come to your senses...you know how to reach me."  
  
"GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE!!" bellowed Mr. Weasley, "OUT!! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE! I HAVE NO SON!!"  
  
"Arthur!" cried Mrs. Weasley, clutching at Percy's shoulders, obviously anxious to have him stay, now that they had been so close to patching it all up.  
  
But Percy detached himself firmly from his mother's grasp, and hastily threw some Floo Powder into the fire. "Ministry of Magic, main lobby," he said, through gritted teeth. And with another flash of flame, the kitchen went quiet. 


	3. Chapter Three

The kitchen remained quiet for a rather long time after Percy had gone. After a while, Mr. Weasley sat himself back down at the table. He looked very much older, and weaker. Harry noticed where his signature red hair was receding slowly but sure along his scalp. Mr. Weasley pinched the bridge of his nose and then mopped his face with his hand.  
  
"I apologize, everyone," he said, "You shouldn't have seen that. That wasn't...very good form, I suppose."  
  
"Percy's a git Dad," said George, "He got what was coming to him." "Took our house burning down for him to bother showing up, didn't it?" Fred said caustically.  
  
"That's a fine way to talk about your own brother!" said Mrs. Weasley, "The first time we see each other in a year!" But she didn't follow her thought to its logical conclusion, for Mr. Weasley still seemed to be not quite calm. Instead, she tutted under her breath, and Scourgified the assorted cake, ash, and floo powder off the floor.  
  
There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Weasley made as though to stand. Charlie pushed him back down into the chair.  
  
"S'only Professor Snape, Da', I've got it," Charlie said, walking towards the hallway.  
  
"Snape!" said Ron, and he, Harry, and Hermione shared a look of chagrin.  
  
"Behave," Mrs. Weasley said quietly, but her heart wasn't really in it.  
  
Charlie and Snape came walking into the room. Rather, Harry remarked to himself dryly, Charlie came walking in, and Snape came sweeping in, in his usual Draconian manner. Not even the subtle look of alarm on his face could assuage Harry's anger towards him.  
  
"Ah, Severus. Pull up a chair," said Lupin reservedly. Harry thought he could detect just the slightest hint of confrontation carefully concealed in Lupin's normally mild voice.  
  
Snape ignored Lupin completely and remained where he stood. "Arthur. Molly," he said crisply, "I came as soon as I could."  
  
"Came a bit late, didn't you," Ron whispered under his breath.  
  
"Excuse me?" Snape hissed silkily.  
  
"Ron, go to your room," Mr. Weasley said evenly, "Err—Order only for a while, kids. Might as well go with him."  
  
Ron stood to go, and Harry automatically stood to follow him. As he stood, Snape met his eye. Harry gave him a hard glare, and thought, "I hope you're reading my mind right now, Snivellus." He then followed Ron out of the room.  
  
Hermione half-stood, with an anxious look around the room, and offered a mumbled, "Professor," before taking Ginny's hand and following them out into the hallway.  
  
They mounted the stairs, careful not to wake Mrs. Black. Harry's feet seemed to weigh fifty pounds each, but his heart was ticking and whirring with anger.  
  
"Fine job he's doing," he hissed between his teeth, "Spying for the Order is he? Don't suppose he could have come up with anything useful before this happened..."  
  
"Voldemort is probably still suspicious of him," Hermione said sadly, "I doubt he would tell him about it. Snape is so tied to Hogwarts, that knowledge of the attack wouldn't be safe with him."  
  
"Still," Ron added darkly, and that seemed to conclude the discussion. They reached the boys' room, and there was an awkward pause.  
  
"Erm...g'nite," Ron said, "See you tomorrow...I guess."  
  
They all muttered their goodnights and went their separate ways. Harry and Ron began changing automatically. Harry felt like his fingers had swelled in size, rendering them useless as he fumbled with his jeans button. He finally just trod on the pants leg, and pulled them off. He climbed into bed, and a moment later heard the springs creak as Ron got into bed. There was a click as Ron turned off the lamp, and more creaking as he settled into bed.  
  
They were quiet for a long time, but Harry could hear Ron's breathing. He doubted either of them would get any sleep tonight. When he couldn't bear the silence anymore, Harry screwed up his courage.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
For a while there was no answer.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm...really sorry mate."  
  
"It's just a house," Ron said, though they both knew it was much more.  
  
"No," Harry said, "I mean...I'm sorry. It seems like...I dunno...that I'm always the bearer of bad news."  
  
There was another long silence in which Harry prayed for Ron to say something, anything that might take away some of the guilt he was feeling.  
  
"Well," Ron said quietly in the dark, "You sort of are, Harry. I mean...it does always seem to be...you, you know? It always comes back to you for some reason."  
  
Harry's insides turned to ice. Part of him was angry with Ron for saying something like that, and part of him secretly knew it was true, and the guilt was more than he could stand. He thought surely, he would be swallowed up by the floor and die.  
  
"But," Ron continued, "It has come in useful, hasn't it? I mean, without you, my Dad would've died last year. And unless you'd contacted me in the fire tonight, we might've all died. So, I mean, yeah, it is a bit...well, dangerous being your best friend. But you've always been there to watch out for us all, as well." Ron heaved a sigh. "Don't sweat it, Harry. It's not you, it's..." He gulped. "It's He Who...It's V-Voldemort, not you. He's the one who burned down our house, not you."  
  
He rolled over, and gave Harry a weak smile. "Mates for life, right?"  
  
Harry swallowed hard as a lump came to his throat. He thought Ron forgiving him would make him feel less guilty, but now he felt, if possible, worse. It would almost have been easier if Ron had behaved like a real prat and yelled and cursed and thrown things like he probably would have, but he hadn't – Harry realized yet again, that had the best friends in the world, and he was constantly putting them and their entire families in mortal danger, just because he existed, just because he had been born in the right month, of the right year, to the right parents. Just because of the stupid prophecy that either spelled his doom or Voldemort's.  
  
There was a timid knock on the door.  
  
"May we come in?" came Hermione's voice.  
  
"Sure," Ron said quietly.  
  
Hermione appeared in her flannel nightdress, holding Ginny's hand, who was wearing one of Charlie's old Chudley Cannons T-shirts. Harry could just see a bruise and a scrape on one of her knobbly knees – probably from Quidditch, he thought.  
  
"We can't sleep," Hermione said, "Ginny – err, well, we thought that we might take you up, Ron, on your offer."  
  
"Oh," Ron said, quietly, "Yeah. Hang on."  
  
Ginny stood by, trying very hard not to cry. Harry and Ron fumphered with the old iron beds for a moment, then Hermione took out her wand.  
  
"Wingardium Leviosa," she said quietly, with a small flick of her wand, and Harry's bed levitated slightly, and placed itself neatly next to Ron's.  
  
"Aren't we supposed to use magic only in emergencies?" Harry said in a lame attempt at humor.  
  
"Official Order of the Phoenix Business," Hermione said smiling, an arm over Ginny's shoulders.  
  
There was a creaking of springs, and a tangle of blankets, arms, and legs. Ron threw an arm over Ginny, who had curled into a little ball, her knees digging into Harry's back. Hermione seemed to waver for a moment, then climbed into bed and put her back against Ron's. They squirmed for a minute, trying to get all their toes and shoulders covered, and then, as though one being, heaved a collective sigh.  
  
"So...tomorrow, I suppose we'll head over there," Hermione said.  
  
"Why," Ron said darkly, "Not bound to be much left, is there?"  
  
"We'll help you look," Harry said, "Maybe we can fix some stuff. You know, with magic." But he knew that there was only so much they could do. The damage was done, and the scars on Ron's arms were a testament to what Harry already knew – thoughts could leave the worst wounds of all. The real attack hadn't been on the Weasley home – it had been on their sense of safety.  
  
"I hate Him," Ginny said bitterly, and no one needed to ask who. It hurt Harry to hear Ginny sound so vulnerable. She had really come into her own, especially last year, he remembered...plucky and implacable in the face of danger, playful and supportive with her friends, assertive and quick witted...Tonight, she seemed like a timid first year again.  
  
Harry suddenly reflected on the past few years through her eyes...Voldemort possessed her and nearly killed her in her first year...nearly all of her friends narrowly escaped death several times over because of Him...Percy left the family because of Him...Her father was attacked and nearly killed because of Him...and last year, her ankle was broken and nearly lost her life to His Death Eaters. Tonight, the only home they had ever known was lost forever.  
  
Her breath was hot on the back of his neck, and he could hear her stifled snuffling. Ron patted her hair.  
  
"Try to sleep, Gin."  
  
"I c-can't."  
  
"What do you think they're talking about down there?" Harry asked quietly.  
  
"Snape's probably giving his report," said Ron.  
  
There was a loud crack, and the bed creaked ominously as Fred and George clambered over them.  
  
"'Ere, budge up." "Lookit – bookends."  
  
Harry chuckled weakly, as the twins sat on either end of the bed. Fred put his arms behind his head, and leaned back on the headboard, throwing his feet over everyone else.  
  
"Get your smelly feet out of my face," Ginny said, a hint of a smile in her voice.  
  
"Count on Fred and George," thought Harry, smiling gratefully.  
  
"How'd the meeting go?" asked Hermione, pushing Fred's legs off of her.  
  
"Snape just held court looking very grim and dire, like usual," George said, "He reckons Voldemort didn't tell him as a kind of test. Had to act all happy about it."  
  
"Act?" Harry said darkly.  
  
There was an awkward beat. "Err...Harry, nobody here likes Snape, but that's a bit much," said Hermione gently.  
  
"Yeah, I guess," Harry admitted begrudgingly, "Would've been nice if he'd been able to do something useful though, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Well," said Fred, "In his defense, he actually did apologize. Said, 'There was nothing I could do – I'm sorry.' Never thought I'd see the day."  
  
"Anything else?" Harry pressed.  
  
"Not really," said Fred, "We are sort of...sworn to secrecy, you know."  
  
"But we'd tell you if there were anything really important," added George quickly,  
  
"Mostly just talk about the house, and security measures. The Daily Prophet's going to go mad."  
  
"Brilliant," said Ron dryly, "Our names in the paper."  
  
"It's really started then," Harry said simply, "The war."  
  
There was a long silence as each sat with their thoughts. They had known for a while now that Voldemort was returning to power, but they had never really considered it an impending war.  
  
Ginny's breathing had gotten slow and rhythmic, and soon, Ron was snoring lightly as he dozed. Downstairs, they heard the kitchen door swing open, and a muffled crack, which must have been Snape Apparating. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's muffled voices were offering Lupin a coffee.  
  
"No, no, I'll get it," he said, "I'm going to stay up a while longer, just in case. You two ought to go to bed..."  
  
There was more muffled conversation, and then quiet creaking on the staircase.  
  
"'Night," said George, getting up gently, so as not to wake anyone. "We'll head 'em off at the pass," said Fred.  
  
"Goodnight you two," whispered Hermione.  
  
"Thanks guys," Harry said.  
  
"See you in the morning, then."  
  
Harry lay awake for a while longer, wondering whether Hermione had fallen asleep yet. Ginny's knees were still pressed awkwardly into his back, but he welcomed it – it would keep him awake. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to close his mind, empty it of all thought. His friends' lives depended on it. But it was his friends' lives that were filling his head at that moment.  
  
"No," he thought sternly, "Think of something else. Someone else."  
  
Sirius's face appeared in Harry's mind – his bark-like laugh...Sirius had lost friends, Harry thought. He had lost a home – everything he ever owned, when he was sent to Azkaban. He also blamed himself for his parents' death – he would know exactly how they were all feeling, know exactly what to say. He wished, for about the thousandth time that he could talk to him.  
  
Ginny's breathing was slow and steady in his ears...  
  
Just before he fell asleep, Harry realized what he must do. He knew in his heart that would do anything to protect these people. He knew it just as simply as he knew his name. It was not about killing Voldemort, or being killed by Voldemort – whatever was going to happen, was going to happen eventually anyway – it was prophecy. But in the moment of lucid calm before slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep, he knew that he would have no qualms marching up to death's door to protect his friends.  
  
Sirius was smiling at him...  
  
His mind turned over once or twice, like a car starting, and slowly he became aware of a uncomfortable knot in his back. He took a deep, waking breath, and sighed quietly, as he rolled over. Ginny made a sleep noise in the back of her throat, and Ron muttered, "Fi' min'tes," sleepily. Harry opened his eyes, and saw Hermione smiling at him over Ron's shoulder.  
  
"Morning," she whispered.  
  
"Did you sleep?" Harry mouthed.  
  
"A little. I'm used to waking up early," she said, "I...well, after the Ministry...I had trouble sleeping. I started doing yoga every night and every morning at home. Helps me concentrate when I study, too. Clears my head."  
  
Something about the phrase triggered something in his memory.  
  
"Could you teach me?"  
  
Hermione looked surprised, then smiled wryly, "You don't seem quite the type."  
  
"I think it might help with Occlumency."  
  
"Well, I don't know if I'm the best person to help," Hermione said, "I'm only just starting myself. I think it's a great idea though."  
  
Ron grumbled crankily, and rolled over, flinging his arm over Hermione. He muttered "Gotcha...broomstick," and began snoring again.  
  
"Err...Ron. Ron!" hissed Hermione. Harry stifled a chuckle at Hermione's reddening face.  
  
"Oh don't laugh at me, Harry, help!" Hermione said, clearly embarrassed beyond belief. Ron was drooling on his pillow, brow knit in concentration.  
  
"Oi – Ron!" Harry whispered. Ginny yawned widely, and gave Ron a sharp elbow in the back.  
  
"Ow! Wha—" Ron stammered sleepily. He blinked owlishly at Hermione's exasperated expression, "Hullo...what's this?"  
  
"Get off," Hermione said, pushing his arm abruptly. Harry smiled as Ron's ears went as red as Hermione's face.  
  
"MMm...Breakfast," Ginny murmured happily. The smell of pancakes and bacon was now wafting up the stairway, and in the quiet, they could hear the homey sound of clanking plates and a sizzling fry pan. 


	4. Chapter Four

The four friends traipsed down the stairs and entered the kitchen to the sight of pancakes flipping themselves and bacon and sausages sizzling, as Mrs. Weasley prodded some scrambled eggs. Lupin was immersed in the Daily Prophet, and Fred and George were wolfing down their breakfast.  
  
"Plates everyone! Buffet style today," Mrs. Weasley said brightly.  
  
"Morning, Mum," chanted Ron and Ginny.  
  
"Morning, Mum," Harry said automatically. There was an awkward moment as Mrs. Weasley looked up, surprised.  
  
"Err – I just...sorry, still sleepy," Harry said, blushing.  
  
"Oh, that's fine, dear. You like them quite soft, yes? Better get yours now, don't want them getting too done."  
  
"Oh – thanks!"  
  
Harry was a bit taken aback...everyone seemed to be quite back to normal, almost exagerratedly so.  
  
"Where's Mr. Weasley? And Charlie and Bill?" Hermione asked.  
  
George and Fred's forks clanked to their plates simultaneously, and they stood.  
  
"S'great Mum," said George, still chewing.  
  
Mrs. Weasley clucked disapprovingly. "You might – swallow!" she said, interrupting herself to kiss them each on the cheek.  
  
"Time is Galleons, Mum!" said Fred, winking at Hermione, "'Where's Mr. Weasley?' Honestly, Hermione, some of us work for a living!"  
  
"Hmmph! If you could call that work!" Mrs. Weasley added wryly.  
  
"Err – how's the shop then?" Hermione asked, with a hesitant glance at Mrs. Weasley who was now scrambling more eggs quite vigorously.  
  
"Booming!" said Fred, his chest swelling.  
  
"We're thinking of buying the level above us, making it our apartment," George added proudly.  
  
"Thinking of it a bit sooner than planned, of course," Fred added quietly to Harry.  
  
"Got a nice mention in the Prophet, though," said George, "Pretty small silver lining, but what can you do, eh?"  
  
"Hurry up dears, before it gets cold!" Mrs. Weasley said, nodding her head at a stack of mismatched plates.  
  
They waved goodbye to the twins before they Apparated with a loud crack, and they each took their plates and loaded them heavily from the stove. Harry found that he was starving. Somehow, he felt like Mrs. Weasley had single-handedly lifted twenty pounds from his mind and his heart (though undoubtedly she would add twenty pounds to his waistline if this kept up.)  
  
"Remus," said Mrs. Weasley sternly, as though it were a matter of grave import, "Your eggs are ice cold."  
  
"Hmm?" he said still scanning the Prophet.  
  
"Ohh, give them here," Mrs. Weasley said, with her characteristic wry grin. She dumped the cold eggs into the dustbin, and added piping hot ones to Lupin's plate, clanking it in front of him. "Eat!" she admonished, "You'll need to keep your strength up! Full moon tomorrow night!"  
  
"Yes, of course, Molly," he said after a moment, setting aside the paper. He pushed it over to Harry. "You three will probably want to see that." With that, he tucked into his eggs.  
  
Harry grabbed the paper and looked at the front page: There was the Burrow, in black and white, flickering with fire – as Harry watched, the roof collapsed – then it returned and the picture began showing it all again. Above it all, the Dark Mark, a giant skull, glittered menacingly.  
  
THE DARK MARK SEEN OVER WEASLEY HOUSE FIRE: DEATH EATERS SUSPECTED OF ARSON  
  
The Burrow, home of pureblood family, the Weasleys, was a burning reminder last night of a time most of the wizarding community would rather forget. The Dark Mark, both hated and feared symbolic "signature" of He Who Must Not Be Named, was seen over the Weasley home by neighbors at approximately 7:30 pm last night, as a four alarm fire burned the entire residence to the ground.  
  
Magical Law Enforcement arrived on the scene at approximately seven pm, along with Cornelius Fudge himself, Albus Dumbledore, several Aurors, and Head of Magical Law Enforcement and Wizengamot member, Amelia Bones.  
  
"As of this time, we have no suspects," Ms. Bones stated in a press release given late that night, "But we are quite certain that this was arson, and the presence of the Dark Mark here leaves little doubt in our minds that it was, in fact, a Death Eater, or former Death Eater who ignited this fire."  
  
The question at this point, however, is who specifically ordered the attack. Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, stated, "I have no doubt in my mind that this attack was ordered directly by Lord V-------- himself." He later added, "It is, of course, the responsibility not only of myself but of all Hogwarts staff to ensure the safety of our students, and we will continue to do so to the best of our abilities."  
  
Less anxious to speak to us was Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, who seemed to have a different opinion of the situation. "Alright, fine, the Dark Mark appeared here," said Minister Fudge, "But we still do not know if the mark was conjured by a Death Eater, or if it was, whether that Death Eater is currently active. And to say that this attack was ordered by You Know Who himself is certainly premature in my opinion."  
  
Recently promoted to Senior Undersecretary after the sudden retirement of Dolores Umbridge, Percy Weasley offered these comments: "It is certainly very difficult, both personally, and...well, no one wants to believe that the Dark Lord has returned to full power. But I think that whether he himself issued this attack or not, we as a wizarding community must be prepared for the worst." When asked about the rest of his family, Weasley only commented, "They're fine." And declined further questions.  
  
The Weasley family is headed by Arthur Weasley, who works for the Ministry in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and who was unable for comment before press time. Thankfully, none of the Weasley family, including his wife, Molly Weasley, and their seven children (Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny, from oldest to youngest) were home at the time the fire was ignited. When asked where they were, Percy Weasley simply said, "Dining with friends," and closed his office door.  
  
Many are now speculating that the "friends" of which he speaks may have included Albus Dumbledore himself, Harry Potter, or possibly Remus Lupin, known werewolf, who is also rumored to be a friend of the family. The Boy Who Lived has survived attacks by He Who Must Not Be Named on at least four occasions that the Prophet is aware of, and counts most of the Weasley family among his best friends. Indeed, it is speculated that if the attack was in fact ordered by the Dark Lord, it was carried out in order to "send a message" to the Boy Who Lived – namely, that he and his friends are not immune to the reach of the Death Eaters.  
  
Additionally, Remus Lupin and Albus Dumbledore both were involved in the subterfuge and defense operations of decades previous when He Who Must Not Be Named first rose to power. The Prophet has also recently learned that Dumbledore has reinstated Remus Lupin as Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
  
With Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter, two Weasley children, and Remus Lupin all returning to Hogwarts School this year, it is the fear of some wizarding families that these "high profile targets" will draw flak to the school from Lord V--------'s followers.  
  
Wife of known Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy recently told the Prophet, "I have always maintained that my husband is innocent, and I, like many concerned parents, fear that Dumbledore's rash actions and the favoritism he displays for certain dangerous individuals will put Hogwarts students in danger of attack from the Dark Lord. I sincerely considered keeping Draco, our son, from returning to Hogwarts this year. But Draco wouldn't hear of it – it will be a fine day when the actions of a few loose cannons will keep our children from safe, quality education. I only hope that Dumbledore is still up to the task of protecting the school."  
  
Other wizards were of the opposite opinion. We contacted the Longbottom family early this morning, and spoke by Floo Powder with Neville Longbottom. Most readers will remember how the Longbottom family was involved in the fight against the Dark Lord. Neville Longbottom, about to enter his sixth year at Hogwarts, stated, "I think that without Dumbledore and Harry and everyone, a lot of us would be dead already." When asked if he was frightened for his safety, and the safety of his family, Longbottom insisted, "Well, yeah – but it's not Harry's fault!" When asked how he felt about having a werewolf for a teacher, Neville seemed surprised and pleased. "Really? Professor Lupin is coming back?" he asked, "Wow!"  
  
In the wake of this tragedy, the wizarding community seems more divided than ever, yet all are united on one front: They are hoping for their own safety, and the safety of those they hold dear. Only time will show us of this is indeed, symptomatic of the Dark Lord's return to power, or merely a frightening fluke.  
  
On page ten: Who Fought the Dark Lord? Bios of Dumbledore, Lupin, the Potters, Weasleys, Longbottoms, Prewetts, and other wizarding families who might present targets to the Dark Lord.  
  
On page twelve: Secret Keepers: The Pros and Cons of a Rising Trend.  
  
On page fourteen: Amos Diggory Speaks Out about his Loss, and his Worries for Hogwarts.  
  
"Harry!" shouted Hermione.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You plan on sharing that?" she asked snippily.  
  
"Oh, right, sorry," he said pushing the paper across the table to her.  
  
"What'd they say?" Ron asked hesitantly.  
  
"We're all mentioned," Harry said, "'Cept you, Hermione."  
  
"Oh," she said, "Good." But she seemed to droop in her chair a bit.  
  
"Be grateful," Lupin said, dropping a piece of bacon and picking up his glass of orange juice, "A low profile presents a poor target."  
  
"Remus!" said Mrs. Weasley, her fork hitting her plate with a loud clank, "Really!" She turned to Hermione and smiled warmly, "No one is a target, dear. We've all got to be careful now."  
  
"Is it good or bad?" said Ron.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"You said we're mentioned – is it good or bad?"  
  
"Eh – bit of both, really. Nothing bad about you. They have a go at me, as usual," he said glumly, "and Dumbledore."  
  
"And me, of course," said Lupin smilingly, "Don't worry, Ron. From now on, I think we'll get the news a bit before the Prophet does. All they're good for now is speculation and reaction. Can't even really call it news. Try not to pay it too much attention."  
  
They finished up their breakfast, and thanked Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"Of course, dears. Now why don't you change into some old clothes – we'll be heading over to the Burrow soon, with your father. See what we can salvage." She spoke brightly and determinedly, but Harry still felt a twinge at hearing the word "salvage." They all stood and made their way to the door, but –  
  
"Harry," said Lupin, "I wonder if you might stay for a moment."  
  
"Sure," he said, turning to Ron and Hermione, "Go on. I'll be right up."  
  
He sat at the table as Mrs. Weasley collected plates. "What's up?"  
  
"Well, I..." Lupin sighed deeply. "Harry, I didn't want to do this now, especially not with everything going on...frankly, I didn't want to do it at all, but it's got to be done sometime, and we can't let it go on for too long."  
  
Harry squirmed in his chair – this sounded like bad news. He wasn't sure he could handle any more of that, especially not with the picture of the Weasley's burning house flickering at him from across the table.  
  
"Err..."  
  
"It's Sirius, Harry," Lupin said, and Harry felt a surge of dislike for Lupin. "He made me the executor of his will, and...well, you're named."  
  
"I don't want it," Harry said automatically, "Whatever it is, I don't want it. It belongs to Sirius."  
  
There was a pause where Lupin and Mrs. Weasley looked at each other sadly.  
  
"And you can knock that off, quite frankly," Harry added rudely.  
  
"Harry Potter! You watch your mouth young man!" Mrs. Weasley said sternly, and Harry felt both ashamed and angry.  
  
"Sorry," he mumbled, "It's just...you know. I'm not that fragile."  
  
"We know, Harry," Lupin said, "But we're just trying to do what Sirius wanted for you."  
  
"Well, what did he want?" Harry said, feeling both curiosity and dread.  
  
"Well, Sirius had very little money," Lupin said, "The Ministry seized most of his assets when they sent him to Azkaban. Most of what he had left went to buy you that Firebolt, actually. But he still had about a hundred Galleons up in the attic, which he leaves to you. The main thing really, is that the house belonged to him. And—" he said, "Now it belongs to you."  
  
Harry felt numb with shock – a house?! He owned a house? But this meant –  
  
"You mean," he said excitedly, "I don't have to live with the Dursleys?"  
  
"Well, no," Lupin said, "You know, Harry, that you are protected while you live there."  
  
"But I'm protected here!" Harry protested, "You can still use it for the Order and things, I won't mind—"  
  
"It's a little early for you to be living on your own, Harry," Lupin said gently, "I'd rather see you out of Hogwarts first."  
  
"Well, seeing as you're not my Dad," Harry said crossly, "I'd rather decide for myself!"  
  
Suddenly, Harry felt a stern "thwack!" on the back of his head. Stunned, he looked up to see Mrs. Weasley turning back to her dishwashing crossly, and felt water from her wet hands dripping down his neck.  
  
"If I heard Ron speaking like that," she said, and Harry heard the familiar strain of reserved temper in her voice, "I would remind him who his elders are," she concluded.  
  
Harry scowled at his dim reflection in the table top. As much as he loved Mrs. Weasley, she wasn't his mother, and he wasn't Ron. "Still," he forced himself to think, "They're just trying to do what Sirius wants them to."  
  
"Sirius didn't want you to live here either, Harry," Lupin continued gently, as though reading his mind. "He stated in his will that the Order should continue to use it until you graduated, at which point, you could decide what to do with it. I think he'd much rather you started fresh, on your own. Someplace with less memory. Now," he said, "There's also the matter of Buckbeak."  
  
"Buckbeak!" Harry exclaimed. He had completely forgotten. "Is he still up in the attic?"  
  
"No," Lupin said, "He was miserable up there, especially after Sirius died. Charlie and I took him to Hogwarts this summer, with Hagrid. It was quite a job getting him there unseen, truth be told," Lupin said, smiling wanly, "But I suppose it doesn't hurt that the Ministry really has more on their hands than a fugitive hippogriff. He'll be living in the Forbidden Forest, now. He was very happy to see Hagrid there, and Hagrid can leave him rats and talk to him when he visits."  
  
"What about the centaurs?" Harry said warily.  
  
"Well – you know Hagrid," Lupin said throwing up his hands, "He'll do as he pleases, won't he?"  
  
Harry smiled. At least that was taken care of.  
  
"Oh," said Lupin, "That just leaves the rest, then."  
  
"Rest?"  
  
"Sirius gave most of the Black family possessions away. But he wanted to make it clear that the Marauder's Map is yours, and that you could sell any of the furnishings or silverware or portraits here, and keep whatever you make," Lupin said, "Except the one of his mother. He said you could cover her up, put her in the attic if you like, but you couldn't get rid of it. Oh, and he left you these."  
  
Lupin reached into his robes pocket, and took out a small bundle of what looked like papers and photos, tied to a small leather book.  
  
"And this," he said, handing Harry a small envelope.  
  
Harry took the parcel and the envelope in trembling hands. His name was scrawled in Sirius's penmanship on the outside.  
  
"Don't even think on them right now," Lupin said, holding up a hand. "When you're ready, Harry – only when you're ready. No one is forcing you."  
  
Harry nodded numbly, feeling a lump rise to his throat again. He knew that these were going straight into the back of his trunk. He didn't think he could bear looking at them for another moment. Some day he would look through it all. But right now, he could think of nothing he wanted more than to forget for a while, and recapture the happy feeling he'd had only a few minutes earlier.  
  
Lupin coughed several times, and rubbed some dirt out of his eye. "Alright then," he said, "Go on up and get changed."  
  
Harry remembered the wedding photo of his parents and Sirius. He suddenly realized who had taken it. All his anger towards Lupin instantly dissolved – he found he no longer resented his gentleness, or the fact that his very presence reminded him so strongly of his family.  
  
"Thanks...err...Professor – err...just Lupin, then? ..."  
  
"Aah..." Remus said, staring very hard at a knot in the table, "Yes. Well, I suppose...If it's alright, you might...Uncle would be fine...Or..." he took a breath, "Moony? – I mean, if you don't want—" he stammered embarrassedly, and Harry saw that though Lupin's voice was quite level, he could not meet his eye.  
  
"Sure," he said hoarsely, "Yeah, that's fine." Harry couldn't really picture a situation where he'd feel comfortable calling Remus "Moony," but he seemed so devastated – like the nickname was the last vestige of his past he was unwilling to relinquish.  
  
Lupin nodded jerkily, and gestured to the door with an awkward smile. As Harry left the room, he saw Mrs. Weasley turn, and sit next to Lupin, putting a hand on his shoulder.  
  
They spent the next several days salvaging what they could from the Weasley home. Mr. Weasley took some time off from the Ministry, only going in two or three days a week, and spending the rest of the time sorting through the debris, or spending time with the family. Harry had never seen Mr. and Mrs. Weasley more affectionate with them, and Ron was frequently seen to be squirming out his mother's bone crushing hugs.  
  
Altogether, it wasn't as bad as they'd thought. The roof had collapsed, but otherwise, the structure of the house seemed to have held, which meant fewer things were smashed than they had expected, even though they were fire damaged. Mrs. Weasley's "knitting chair" was repaired by magic (though one of the rockers needed to be made fresh), and the Weasley silver, warped and distorted beyond use, was able to be salvaged, melted down, and traded in for much-needed Galleons. All of Ron and Ginny's school supplies were paid for by two kitchen drawers. As for their booklist, Ginny inherited Harry's books from last year.  
  
For a while, they weren't quite sure how to afford books for Ron...Fred and George offered a couple times, but Ron always insisted that he'd just borrow Harry's or Hermiones. But Hermione pulled out all the stops, and in addition to her own books, bought a large blank journal...she then put a highly complicated spell on it that would allow it to transfigure from one school book to another, so that all of Ron's schoolbooks for that year were found in one volume that he could change simply by tapping it with his wand.  
  
"This is brilliant!" said Ron, smoothing the cover, "My bookbag might actually make it through the year, for once! Not to mention my shoulders...Thanks, Hermione!"  
  
"Well, I sort of had to do a Protean Charm and then reverse it with a Switching Spell...and getting it to change from one to another took a little doing, but it turned out quite nicely, actually," she said, obviously very proud of herself, "And I can't wait to report this bit of magic to the Ministry."  
  
Lupin flipped through Ron's book, highly impressed, and told Hermione that at the very least, it was Outstanding NEWT-level Transfiguration, at which she blushed and stammered for nearly five minutes straight.  
  
As for their lost school uniforms, Harry told them that he had some extra robes they could borrow, then snuck off to buy them while they were in the apothecary's, hiding them amongst his own bags of school supplies. That night, after Ron went to sleep, he quietly took them out, and rolled them up into a ball in his trunk, so they wouldn't seem so new. Hermione gave him a look when he gave them to Ron and Ginny the next day, but had the good grace not to say anything.  
  
Plus, Mrs. Weasley's and Hermione's knitting needles were flashing midair, day and night, and all the Weasley children (including Harry and Hermione) soon had a fresh supply of sweaters and socks. And most happily of all, witching mothers all over England were sending owls to the Prophet asking for the Weasleys' clothing sizes, and sending parcels of spare clothing. One anonymous source sent a hundred-galleon gift cheque to Marks and Spencer, and Ginny and Ron were both able to buy some new clothes for school.  
  
The end of that August yielded a wide variety of feelings in all of them – when Hermione, Harry, Mr. Weasley, and Lupin, after five sweaty hours crouching together in the ashes, were able to reassemble and put to use Mrs. Weasley's prized clock, there were hearty cheers and cold butterbeers all around. Harry had never had cold butterbeer before, and he found it quite different and quite satisfying after a hot day's work – but maybe it was just the tiny tear of joy sparkling in Mrs. Weasley's eye...  
  
Other days were not quite as satisfying. Like the day the Weasleys finally realized there was absolutely no salvaging the house. As the frame of the house had withstood the flames, there was some tentatively hopeful talk of rebuilding. But on their tenth day of wading through the house, one of the supporting beams gave way. Harry grabbed Ginny by the shoulders, and helped her narrowly escape some falling debris, while Hermione quickly put the Bubblehead Charm on them both, saving Harry a nasty bump on the head. After that, the search was pretty much ended, and they bid goodbye to their home for the last time.  
  
The whole Weasley family, plus Harry, Hermione, and Lupin (and minus Percy) stood staring at the small pile of rubble that was left after all their repairing and vanishing.  
  
"I don't understand," George said, "Didn't we have a protection charm on the place?"  
  
"Well, of course, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, "But once You Know Who decides he's going to burn your house down – well..." she took a deep breath, and turned to her husband. "Did we get a good price for the land, then?" she asked briskly.  
  
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Weasley, "Lovely neighborhood, really. Young wizard couple wants to build their home here. Of course, we couldn't get too much for it – The Dark Lord did attack it, after all. You know what they say, 'Location, location, location!'"  
  
He chuckled weakly, and there was a long pause.  
  
"I liked it when you used to come home through the double doors in the kitchen, Dad," said Ginny.  
  
"Yeah," said Fred, "Or that third creaky stair."  
  
"You hated that stair," said Ron, "Always got you into trouble when you were sneaking out."  
  
"Yeah," said George, "Funny the things you miss."  
  
Ginny stepped up to the pile of rubble near the charred hearth, and began sorting through it.  
  
"Be careful, dear," said Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Ron looked around him, and spied a small, weatherbeaten wooden sign, stuck into the earth by a stake – it had been far enough from the fire to have survived. He walked over and in one strong wrench, pried the sign off of its post. "The Burrow," was written in curling script.  
  
Fred and George were walking the back yard, stamping their feet every now and then. They dropped to their knees, and scraped some earth away with their hands. They brought up a wooden box, and withdrew from it a nearly empty bottle of Ogden's Fire Whiskey.  
  
"Fred! George!" Mrs. Weasley said, caught between laughter and shock.  
  
"Well, no sense leaving it there, is there," said George, opening it up, and taking a swig. "At least all our recipes for Wizarding Wheezes are at the shop."  
  
He passed it to Fred, who took a hearty swig, then poured the last few dregs onto the ground. He screwed the cap back on, and they walked back to join the family. Ginny emerged from the rubble with the engraved doorknob from the kitchen door, and Charlie carried a very charred piece of wood.  
  
"What's that?" Bill asked, as he pocketed a chipped and scarred piece of brick from the hearth.  
  
Charlie held up the blackened piece of wood, and ran his fingers over the edge – as soot fell away, they could see notches cut into its edge.  
  
"Doorframe," he said gruffly, "Won't know who's who, now...But I suppose it's alright. I think this is you, Ginny."  
  
"Yeah," she said, running her fingers over it, "My notch from last year was crooked like that."  
  
"So that makes this one mine," Ron said, brushing some soot away.  
  
"And that's us from two years ago," said Fred.  
  
They each took a moment to breathe deeply, and look around them.  
  
"Alright," said Mr. Weasley, "It's time."  
  
"Don't you want to take anything, Dad?" asked George.  
  
"Your mother and I have got everything we need," said Mr. Weasley, beaming at them.  
  
They all raised their wands together.  
  
"Evanesco!"  
  
That was one of the harder days.  
  
Before they knew it, August had gone, and Harry woke abruptly on September first to the sound of Ginny Weasley howling in pain from the hallway.  
  
"YOU BUFFOONS!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, and Harry heard a few choice "thwacks!" amidst the twins' protests and Ginny's howling.  
  
"Well, last year you told us not to use magic—" "OW OW OW OW –" "– so we tried to carry it ourselves this time!" "OOOOOW OW OW –" "DID I TELL YOU TO DROP IT ON HER FOOT??" "Blood traitors! Defilers! Degenerates!" "NOW SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE!! ALL THE NOISE YOU WERE MAKING!" "We were making?!"  
  
Harry sighed to himself, smiling, and climbed out of bed. He grabbed his toothbrush and towel off the nightstand, and made his way through the sound and the fury to the bathroom.  
  
After a six minute shower with five minutes of hot water (Hermione and Ginny had both gotten to it first), a breakfast of burnt toast, and helping to get four trunks, two owls, one cat, four students, four older brothers, two parents, and one werewolf loaded into two Ministry-provided mini-vans, Harry was quite ready to board the train.  
  
At the station, they exploded out of the cars, rather than got out of them, and somehow managed to get all of their assorted nonsense onto carts, and make it through the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. As the Weasley family gathered together for goodbyes, however, a veritable entourage came running out of the train and swamped Harry and the Weasleys.  
  
"Ron!" shouted Katie Bell, "Ron! Are you alright?"  
  
"We read about it in the paper!" shouted Jack Sloper.  
  
"Gin – Gin!" Michael Corner had grasped a mortified Ginny in a deep hug, "What if I'd lost you?" he said rather melodramatically, much to the chagrin of Dean Thomas, and a fourth-year Ravenclaw, both of whom seemed to be waiting in line for their hug from Ginny. Mr. Weasley squirmed uncomfortably, and his wife patted his arm, smiling.  
  
"Hullo Harry!" said Neville, smiling.  
  
"Hi, Neville," said Harry, beaming. He was suddenly struck with a great idea, "Listen, Neville, there's something I've got to ask you later. It's important. Sort of a favor."  
  
"Sure, anything!" Neville said, his round face beaming at being able to help.  
  
"Your house burned down," came an odd, lilting soprano from behind the throng. The Gryffindor Quidditch team parted to reveal Luna Lovegood smiling pleasantly at Ron. Bill and Charlie stared at her, half offended and half amused. She had cut her hair very short, revealing an extremely long neck to match her bulging eyes, but she had also gotten a tan that suited her well.  
  
"Uhm, yeah," said Ron.  
  
"I was very sorry to hear it. Well, read it rather. I saw it in the Prophet when my Dad and I got back from Sweden."  
  
"Ah," said Lupin politely, "Hermione told us you were searching for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. How was the expedition?"  
  
"Not very good," said Luna, shaking her head sadly, "Only saw two. We would have gotten photos, but they're terrified of light, poor things. Oh, I got you this from our weekend in Norway," she said, and handed Ron an ugly looking ceramic troll with a long snout, and curved tail. "You put it under your bed and if you wish it goodnight every night it wards off evil."  
  
"That's – really nice, Luna, thanks," Ron said, as Ginny wrinkled her nose at it and Fred and George snorted from trying to hold in their laughter.  
  
"You're welcome." Luna stepped forward and gave Ron a kiss on the mouth.  
  
"Ahem!" said Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"Oh, hello!" Luna said sweetly, "Did you want one too?"  
  
"Excuse me??"  
  
"A troll. I didn't know how many I should get – I've never met Ron's family. So here's one for you, and one for you—"  
  
Soon everyone, even Harry and Neville, had an ugly troll to call their own, except for Hermione, who acidly declined hers, and shot a scathing look at Ron. Ron, on the other hand, was too busy turning red as a beet, and looking at Luna quite fearfully.  
  
"Hello, Harry," came a gruff voice, and Harry turned to see the gnarled, scarred face of Mad Eye Moody grinning at him, along with Kingsley and Tonks, who had decided that green was her color, and had changed her hair accordingly.  
  
"Hi guys," Harry said, smiling. He felt like he had never been so happy to see them. "How's things in the Auror's department?"  
  
"Oh, fine, fine," said Kingsley, "We've been concentrating a lot more on The Death Eaters now, now that...well, now that we have a little more time."  
  
Harry smiled appreciatively. He knew Kingsley meant that now that Sirius was dead, they didn't have to pretend to be looking for him all day, but he thought it was nice of Kingsley to be so diplomatic.  
  
"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks, ruffling his already mussy hair. "Nice hair. Now all you need to do is dye it green to match your eyes."  
  
"See you had the same idea," said Harry brightly, "'Cept your eyes are blue. At least today."  
  
"Are they really?" said Tonks cheerfully, "That's a bit embarrassing, eh?" She adopted a look of strained concentration, and her green hair suddenly turned the same baby blue as her eyes. "There we are, then. Don't want to clash."  
  
"Err, you can stop treading on my foot, Hermione," Ron said at Harry's right.  
  
"I don't know [I]what[/I]you're referring to," Hermione said briskly, "I must have done it by accident. Oh – there's my parents!" and she dashed over to her waving mother and father, her hair bouncing behind her in the sunlight. Ron watched her go with a confused and pained expression.  
  
"I'm sorry!" said Luna dreamily, "Is she jealous?"  
  
"Err—"  
  
"I just get a bit carried away sometimes, when I'm happy to see someone," Luna said dreamily, "Do you think I should have kissed her, too?"  
  
Ginny was overcome with a fit of the giggles at this point. Michael Corner laughed sycophantically before Dean Thomas and the Ravenclaw boy nudged him out of the way with their shoulders.  
  
"So Harry," said Tonks, "Ready for another year?"  
  
He looked at the mass of people who had come to greet them.  
  
"I can't wait," he said happily. 


	5. Chapter Five

"All aboard that's going aboard!" shouted the conductor crossly, holding up his watch.  
  
"Right," Harry said, "That's us."  
  
Mrs. Weasley squeezed him into a bone-crushing hug and gave him a kiss on his bangs before pushing him aside and attacking Ron.  
  
"Arrgh! Muummm..."  
  
One by one, everyone said their goodbyes and ran to the train.  
  
"See you there, Harry!" "Bye Hermione!" "Ginny – send me an OWL as soon as you can, okay?" "Errr...sure, Michael..." "Ginny, who's that?" "Nobody, err...hey, who are you, anyway?"  
  
"Harry," said Moody, pulling him aside. Kingsley, Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Arthur were all standing together in a little circle. Harry looked over his shoulder awkwardly, aware that everyone was watching.  
  
"Err – what is it?" he asked.  
  
"We just wanted to tell you to be careful at school," Mr. Weasley said.  
  
"Oh," Harry said, feeling immensely relieved, "Well, if that's all—"  
  
"Uh-huh," Moody said, his voice heavy laden with sarcasm, "I don't think so, Potter."  
  
"Sorry, Harry," said Lupin, grinning, "But you do tend to – ah – well..."  
  
"Look, I don't go looking for trouble," Harry said, "Trouble tends to find me."  
  
"We know, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, "All we're asking is that before you do anything rash, you consult with someone in the Order."  
  
Harry felt his stomach drop out from under him, and he turned abruptly away, and looked somewhere beyond the train. So that's what this was all about – Sirius. They were blaming him for Sirius' death...if he hadn't been so rash, if he wasn't such a troublemaker...  
  
Kingsley apparently had noticed the murderous look on Harry's face, because he said, "Harry – no one's judging you here. We're just telling you that—"  
  
"Yeah, I got it, okay?" Harry whispered heatedly, "Try not to get anyone killed. No problem."  
  
There was a long pause. He was just so happy a minute ago – why did they have to wreck everything? It seemed like every time he was ready to get on with his life, somebody had to bring up Sirius...  
  
"Hey," said Tonks, in an awkward, friendly voice, "Hey, it's alright, Harry, nobody's saying it's your fault –"  
  
"No! I understand," Harry said, "I'm a menace. I don't even know why you're talking to me, I mean, you could be the next...what was it? 'high profile target?'"  
  
Moody had had enough. His magical eye bored through Harry as he let out a low growl, "Act your age, Potter. Arthur and Remus here might treat you with kid gloves, but I don't mind telling you that this is a little bigger than your tender feelings. You don't make judgement calls anymore. You don't save the world. You go to class, you do your homework, and you try your damndest to be just as normal as the next kid."  
  
"Yeah, funny thing about that," Harry said, and Moody's eyebrows shot up, "I'm not normal, am I? You don't think that's all I want? You don't think that's all I've ever wanted? Just remember," he said recklessly, for Moody's scarred face was trembling with suppressed anger, "You're not named in some foul prophecy...You're not the one who's got to kill Voldemort, I am, that, or die trying. And in case you hadn't noticed," he continued, "Sirius was my godfather, and now he's dead. And yes, fine, it's my fault. There!" he said, not realizing that he was yelling, not realizing that his face was hot and wet, "There! It's my fault! MY fault that Ron and his whole family almost died! So I think I've 'learned my lesson,' alright? I don't think you need to remind me not to get my best friends killed!"  
  
Moody stumped towards Harry, and grabbed him by the shirt, dragging Harry face to face with his magical eye, which bored through his skull...  
  
"Alastor!" said Kingsley, warningly. But his warning fell on deaf ears.  
  
"Look into my eye," Moody said in an acid whisper, "Look me in the eye and tell me that I don't understand sacrifice. Look here." He jerked Harry's shirt, and Harry looked at the chunk that was carved out of the flesh of Moody's nose. "And here!" Another jerk, and Harry was staring at a faded and crooked scar just below Moody's lip, that he had never noticed before.  
  
"Remember that photo I showed you Harry? The original Order of the Phoenix? Yeah? Do you remember that half of them are dead now? Those were MY friends. So look me in the eye Potter, and tell me that you are alone in the world, and only you know what suffering is. That YOU have the patent on suffering."  
  
He released Harry, who stood rooted to the spot, horrified and embarrassed.  
  
"You are not the only one," growled Moody, "Who knows what it is to be a marked man."  
  
He took a few stumping steps, and put a hand on Lupin's and Arthur's shoulders. He turned, and glared at Harry. "And you are not the only one who's lost someone."  
  
And with that, he stumped off and disappeared through the barrier.  
  
"OI!" shouted the conductor, "Are you coming or not?"  
  
"Just a moment!" shouted Mr. Weasley.  
  
"I can't hold the train forever!" shouted the Conductor, holding up his watch.  
  
"We've got you! Alright? Won't be a moment," shouted Tonks.  
  
"That isn't the way I'd want you to start your new year, Harry," said Mr. Weasley.  
  
"I agree, Harry," said Lupin, "Moody was a bit out of line."  
  
"No," Harry said, as hot tears of shame leaked unwillingly from his eyes, "He was right. I was wrong. I'm a prat, and I got Sirius killed, and I'm the reason you don't have a house anymore."  
  
He quickly took his glasses off, and wiped his eyes roughly on his sleeve.  
  
"Harry," said Mr. Weasley gently, "You were right too, in a way. You are different. You bear a burden that none of us can know. And we know how worried you are for your friends, and how hard it is to care for them and be afraid of caring for them at the same time. So, if it's hard on you sometimes...we understand. Don't beat yourself up, alright?"  
  
"And most of all," Lupin said fiercely, holding Harry's shoulder, "Never, never blame yourself for Sirius's death. Or for Arthur's house for that matter." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "It's Voldemort, Harry...this is what he does. He divides people. He splits them in half, and divides them from each other. It's up to you, Harry, to..."  
  
"Ahem," Kinglsey said.  
  
Lupin seemed to stop in mid-thought. His focused expression suddenly loosened, and he looked at Harry as though he were both very happy and very sad.  
  
"Just play Quidditch, Harry."  
  
"Huh?!"  
  
"Kick Slytherin's sorry arse. Study hard. Find a pretty girl and kiss her. Just...don't forget that there's joy to be had in all this. Your father," he said, smiling in the same sad way, "and Sirius were both very good at that."  
  
Harry nodded with a mute smile, and gave Lupin a hug, slapping him on the back, lest anyone think this was a soppy moment.  
  
"Thanks, Moony," he whispered.  
  
Lupin squeezed his shoulder proudly, and suddenly shoved him towards the train. "Go on, now, get on."  
  
Harry waved goodbye to all of them, dragging his trunk behind him. The train had already started moving. He swung his trunk onto the steps, and found Ron reaching out a hand. Taking it, Ron swung him aboard. He, Hermione, and Ron ran to the first window they found, threw it open, and waved out of the window until their family was small, waving dots on the distant Platform.  
  
"What was that all about?" Hermione asked Harry, "You looked angry."  
  
"He looked angry? What got into Moody?" Ron breathed, awestruck, "I thought you were dead for sure, mate! What did you say to him?"  
  
"Nothing," Harry said, "It...It was about Sirius."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said.  
  
"'Nuff said," said Ron, "We don't have to talk about it."  
  
"No," Harry said, smiling at them as though from a slight distance, "It's alright. I think it's okay."  
  
Hermione gave him a smile. Ron seemed to be quite bewildered as to what this was all about, and decided that a friendly punch on the arm said it all.  
  
"Prefects!" came an arrogant voice, and Ernie MacMillan's head was seen poking out of the first compartment, "We need you in here, please!"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Honestly, we've done this once before."  
  
"We'll be right back, Harry," said Ron, "Ginny and Neville are saving us a compartment – last one on your left. Err- would you take these?"  
  
"Sure," Harry said amiably, "Locomotor trunks."  
  
He opened the compartment door to find Luna hiding behind the Quibbler again, her wand safely stowed behind her ear. At least this year she seemed to be reading it rightside up. The headline read: "The Dark Lord Spied Waterskiing Off Cote d'Azur." Harry tried to picture Voldemort waterskiing, and actually hoped that Voldemort might be reading his mind. Ginny was sharing some Chocolate Frogs with Neville. He looked up as Harry entered the room, and began stowing all of their trunks.  
  
"Harry!" he said, his pudgy face lighting up. "Here, let me help with that!"  
  
Between the two of them, the trunks were soon safely stowed above and below them.  
  
"What was it you wanted to ask me?" Neville asked, excitedly.  
  
"Oh, err..." Harry said, with a quick glance at Luna and Ginny, "I wanted to ask...if you were trying out for Quidditch this year."  
  
Ginny's eyebrows raised suspiciously. Luna however, dreamily commented, "You'd make an excellent Chaser, Neville."  
  
"Oh," Neville said, furrowing his brow, "Well, actually...I'm pretty awful, Harry. I think I'd better not."  
  
Harry cursed inwardly. He'd have to corner Neville alone later. Maybe he could tell Dumbledore, and he could call them to his office...  
  
"Here, Harry – catch!" Ginny threw him a Chocolate Frog.  
  
He and Neville were just ending a game of wizard chess, while Ginny laughed and wrinkled her nose at Luna's description of Ron's cute freckles and soft lips. It was unfortunate that he and Hermione chose that particular moment to slide open the compartment door.  
  
"Oh, hello!" Luna said waving cheerfully, "I was just telling Ginny how good looking you are!"  
  
"Err...I...uh...have a girlfriend, Luna," Ron said, turning red.  
  
"You do?" Harry said innocently. Ron shot him a nasty look, "Well who is it then, Ron?"  
  
"Yeah, Ron," said Ginny holding in a giggle, "Who is she?"  
  
"Err...uh...Hermione!" said Ron, seizing Hermione's hand, who had gone stiff as a board, "We uh...we starting going out...this summer."  
  
"Oh, really?" said Luna cheerfully, "That's wonderful! Congratulations, Hermione... Ron is an excellent kisser."  
  
But Hermione was directing a look of death at Ron. "I know," she said through gritted teeth, "He's just astounding."  
  
"Gosh, Hermione," said Harry, as tears of laughter streamed down Ginny's shaking frame, "Maybe you two want to find your own compartment?"  
  
"OH, no, that's fine," Ron said, as he and Hermione threw themselves into seats as far apart as they could get, "Chuck me a Chocolate Frog, would you?"  
  
After a while, the compartment door slid open, and they all looked up, cheerfully expecting the trolley, only to see Draco Malfoy and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, blocking their exit.  
  
Malfoy had grown a few inches as well, and his signature blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, like his father's. Rather than his usual smug smirk, however, there was a nasty glare.  
  
"Potter."  
  
"Malfoy. Harry replied, "Have a good summer then?"  
  
"Afraid not," Malfoy said in a caustic whisper very different from his usual arrogant drawl, "My father was taken to Azkaban. But then again, I'm sure you knew that, as you were the one that put him there."  
  
"Your father got what was coming to him," said Harry coolly, "And so will you if you don't get out now."  
  
Malfoy's eyes flared and he looked for a moment as though he were going to hit Harry. He then straightened up, and in his trademark drawl, he said, "No big black dog to send you off this year, Harry..."  
  
"That's right," Harry said, standing slowly, his eyes burning emeralds, "Care to make something of it?"  
  
"Not at all," Malfoy said in mock sympathy, "It is SO sad when a family pet dies...I heard he had to be...put down. Rabid, was he?"  
  
Harry whipped out his wand, and aimed it at Malfoy's heart. The silence in the room was like someone screaming...  
  
"Go on then," Malfoy said, shaking with fury, "Go on. I want you to. Let the Ministry put you in Azkaban – I know plenty of people there who could keep you company."  
  
Hermione stood up, and moved between Harry and Draco.  
  
"Harry," she said gently, "He wouldn't want this."  
  
Harry looked up at Hermione, about to snap at her to "Get out of it!" but the look in her eyes reminded him of Lupin's sad smile...and he remembered their parting words of advice to him.  
  
Shaking, he put the wand down, and put it in his pocket.  
  
Suddenly, Hermione stumbled as she was shoved from behind.  
  
"I don't remember asking for your help, Mudblood!" Draco sneered.  
  
"EXPELLIARMUS!" came a lion-like roar that Harry had never heard before. All Harry saw was a flash of red, and then a flash of red hair, as Draco and his goons were thrown across the hallway, Ron following close behind. As soon as Malfoy hit the wall of the train, Ron grabbed him by the robes, and flung him to the floor of the compartment. He pointed his wand at Malfoy's chest, and slammed the compartment door shut behind him.  
  
"COLLOPORTUS!" Crabbe and Goyle's fists pounded pointlessly against the door, as it sealed with a squelch.  
  
Hermione and Harry shared a shocked look with one another. They had never seen Ron this angry.  
  
"I've told you once, Malfoy," said Ron, breathing heavily, "I've told you twice. I am not going to tell you again. You take that back, or prepare yourself."  
  
"For what?" sneered Malfoy.  
  
Ron stomped between Malfoy's legs as hard as he could. Ginny gasped, and Hermione let out a little shriek. Harry opened his eyes to see that Ron's trainer had pinned Draco's robes to the ground, and narrowly missed ending the Malfoy line forever.  
  
"For something you won't like very much," Ron hissed between his teeth, "Take it back. NOW!"  
  
Draco seemed to be considering for a minute. He was taking quick, whiney breaths, looking from Ron to Hermione with mingled fear and hatred.  
  
"Alright," Ron said resignedly, "Don't say I didn't warn you."  
  
"Fine!" said Malfoy, seeming to realize that Madame Pomfrey wouldn't be able to fix what Ron was liable to do to him, "Fine."  
  
He turned to look at Hermione, and said in his drawling sneer, "I'm so sorry. Please do excuse my rough language."  
  
"Like – you – mean it..." Ron said, lifting Malfoy off the floor by his robes.  
  
"RON!" shouted Hermione, standing. Surprised, Ron and Malfoy both looked up at her.  
  
"Let him go."  
  
"Not until he—"  
  
"LET HIM GO!" she insisted, sounding for all the world like Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Ron looked at Malfoy as though he were something smelly on his shoe, and dropped him to the floor.  
  
"Draco, I accept your apology. Please don't bother us again," Hermione said, waving her wand at the compartment door, so that it slid open with a bang.  
  
Malfoy seemed not to want to tussle again, so he quickly stepped out into the hallway.  
  
"By the way, Weasley," he addedd, as soon as he was out of fist range, "I hope your family had insurance. Then again, you probably couldn't afford it—"  
  
"REDUCIO MINITESTUS!" came a shrill shriek, and everyone was astonished to see a bright blue bolt of energy escape Ginny Weasley's wand, and smack right into Draco Malfoy. He staggered for a moment, then patted down his chest, looking for injury.  
  
Draco let out a laugh. "Missed, you little—" and he called Ginny something that made Harry's hand stray to his wand pocket.  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure," Ginny said, grinning smugly, "Oh, and you might want to...avoid Pansy Parkinson for a while, if you catch my meaning...you wouldn't want her to be...disappointed."  
  
Draco's jaw dropped to his chest, and he let out a string of spluttered expletives as he stormed off, with Crabbe and Goyle struggling to catch up and look menacing at the same time.  
  
"Reducio minitestus?" Luna said, mildly amused, "I shall have to remember that one."  
  
"Speaking of which," Hermione said, wheeling on Ron, "Did someone reduce your brain?"  
  
"What?!" Ron said, genuinely taken aback.  
  
"We are prefects, Ron, and so is Malfoy! I bet he goes to Snape about this..."  
  
"Who cares?" said Ron recklessly, "I've had it with that git. If he ever calls you...a...a –"  
  
"I know what he called me, Ron! Stop trying to protect me! I can take care of myself!"  
  
Ron gaped at her, outraged.  
  
"Hey!" he said, "Hey!"  
  
"A witty rebuttal Ron, very clever, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you stop behaving like an idiot just because Draco Malfoy does," Hermione said, folding her arms.  
  
"Oh," said Luna, smiling happily, "They're sweet when they fight."  
  
"Ugh!" Hermione said, flouncing out of the compartment, "I'm going report Malfoy before he beats us to it."  
  
"Women." grunted Ron, shoving a Chocolate Frog in his mouth. "I mean," he said, turning to Harry, "Was I wrong? Was I?"  
  
"Err...I don't think it's so much a matter of right or wrong as what Hermione wants you to do," Harry said, feeling both sorry for Ron and thoroughly amused at what Malfoy might find in his trousers...  
  
The rest of the ride seemed to go rather smoothly after that. Hermione was a long time coming back, but when she did come back, she and Ron seemed unwilling to argue any longer. They had apparently decided mutually, without words, to completely forget that any unpleasantness had occurred, and managed to be quite civil for the rest of the ride. Ginny was just about to regale Harry with another tale of a particularly well-executed Wronski Feint she had duped Charlie with that summer, when Hermione said, "You know, we really ought to get our robes on. We're almost there."  
  
There was a shuffling of trunks and everyone's elbows seemed to be bashing together as they all put their black Hogwarts robes on over their uniforms. They all kicked off their trainers, and put on their dress shoes. Hermione and Ginny held various rubber bands, and clips in their teeth as they fussed with their hair. Harry noted that the robes he had bought Ginny were a bit tight, and then quickly looked away, feeling a bit guilty for staring. Luna simply shook her head once or twice, apparently enamoured of her new hair cut, and dove back into the Quibbler. Harry caught Neville staring at Luna's elongated neck with a goofy smile on his face, trying vainly to tie a proper tie.  
  
The train slowly ground to a halt, and they got their trunks down one by one. Outside the train, they heard the familiar call of "Firs' Years! Firs' Years this way!"  
  
"Hagrid!" cried Hermione joyfully, "It's going to be SO nice to see all our professors again!"  
  
Ron stared at her, with an eyebrow quizzically raised.  
  
"Well, not ALL of them," Hermione added as an afterthought. The phrase struck an odd realization in Harry, however.  
  
"Hey, hold up," he said, "Why didn't Lupin come on the train with us?"  
  
"Harry, one of these days I'm going to buy you a Lunascope," said Hermione, exasperated, "I'm sure he's at Grimmauld Place. Full moon tonight. He'll probably take a few days to recover, and then come up."  
  
"Shame he'll miss the feast though," Ron said, "Rotten luck. But then, he'll probably miss the first day of classes as well, probably. Sort of makes me wish I was a werewolf. Think he'd bite me if I asked him?" he said, grinning at Hermione, who rolled her eyes, while trying not to grin.  
  
"You're aiming for NEWT levels, remember?" she admonished bumping him playfully with her shoulder as they made their way down the corridor.  
  
"Harry," said Neville, tugging his robes.  
  
"Yes, Neville?"  
  
Neville pulled Harry closer and cupped his hand to his ear. Harry had the distinct impression that they were back in Primary School.  
  
"Err...Hermione and Ron...are they...really..."  
  
Harry glanced at Luna, who was engaged in a deep conversation with Ginny about the mating habits of the Crumple Horned Snorkack.  
  
"No," he whispered back, "Not really."  
  
"Oh," Neville said, his face falling, "I was hoping...well, nevermind." He gave a sad glance at Luna. "Err – Ron, he doesn't...fancy Luna, does he?" he asked, trying to sound casual.  
  
Harry smiled, "Let's worry about getting to Hogwarts first. Hey, maybe you can share a coach."  
  
Neville's face turned scarlet and Harry laughed out loud. They stepped off the train into a beautiful, sparkling September sunset, smelling faintly of burning leaves and fresh energy. Despite a brisk breeze, Harry could feel the golden heat of the setting sun smacking pleasantly at his shoulders. Perfect for a last-minute game of Quidditch, he reflected, and when Ginny glanced over at him grinning, he knew she was thinking along the same lines.  
  
"Going out for the team then?" he asked.  
  
"Why not?" she said, "I'm going to give you a run for your money, Mr. Potter. I may not be the youngest seeker in a century, but I'm smaller than you, and I've got Ravenclaw's Keeper in my pocket!"  
  
Harry smiled. He hoped that Ginny found a place on the team...Seeker was pretty much taken up, though. Ron's position was tentative, though he had showed a lot of promise at the end of last year, and he had been practicing – Sloper was abysmal – But with Angelina and Alicia Spinnet graduated, there was plenty of room for Ginny to be a Chaser. Harry reflected suddenly that with Angelina gone, he'd most likely be Quidditch Captain this year. He wondered if he was up to the task...  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by a hand the side of a ham shank clapping on his shoulder.  
  
"Alright, Harry?" Hagrid beamed down at him.  
  
"Yeah," Harry grinned, "Alright. You?"  
  
"Can' complain, can' complain. Another year!" Hagrid roared happily, gesturing to the first years. Harry noted the streaks of gray in Hagrid's hair, but his face was ruddy as ever, and the crinkles around his eyes seemed to make him look even younger somehow.  
  
"Great to see you, Hagrid," Harry said.  
  
"Hagrid," said Hermione seriously, "You do have your job back, don't you?"  
  
"O' course! O' course," Hagrid said, beaming, "Great man, Dumbledore. Great man. I can' wait to show ye what I've got for ye THIS year!" he said, his eyes lighting up.  
  
"Heh heh...can't wait," Ron said smiling weakly.  
  
"Ron! Harry!" called Luna, who was waving from a coach, "Hermione!"  
  
"Errr..." said Ron, quickly putting an arm around Hermione's waist. Hagrid's eyebrows raised, and his beard lifted a few inches.  
  
"You ah...wan' to tell me somethin'?" he asked, his deep voice teasing.  
  
"It's NOT what you think," Hermione said briskly.  
  
"O' course, o' course not," Hagrid said, winking at Harry.  
  
Harry gave Neville a quick nudge with his shoulder, who stumbled his way over. "Sorry Luna!" he called, "Ginny's already gotten us one!...Ginny," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "Go get us one." She surreptitiously snuck off and began looking at coaches.  
  
"Oh, too bad!" Luna said, "See you there then!" She gave Neville a hand, and yanked him into the coach.  
  
"Oi! You lot!" called Ginny, "Over here!"  
  
"See you, Hagrid!" they chanted, and Hagrid gave them a friendly nod and a wink.  
  
"See you lot at my cabin? When you get a mo'." He turned back to the swarm of wide-eyed first years, who were goggling at his massive height. "Firs' Years this way! Follow me!" Hagrid said.  
  
As they walked to their coach, Harry gave an odd look at the thestrals. He caught Neville looking at them out the coach window as well, and felt the happiness inside him deflate just a bit.  
  
Ron was staring about five inches above it. "That's funny," said Ron, quietly, "I figured we'd all be able to see them this year."  
  
"You didn't see him fall through the veil. You have to actually see it – only Neville and I did. And we already could see them from before." Harry said sadly.  
  
"Oh...yeah, that's right...I don't remember it too well, after a point...I mean, I was pretty well out of it..." he shuddered.  
  
"What is it?" Harry asked.  
  
"Nothing...brains."  
  
Harry realized Ron must've been remember what the tentacles from the brain room had been showing him as they wrapped around his arms. Harry remembered that he still had faint scars on his forearms.  
  
Hermione let them look at the thestral's taught black skin and moon-dead eyes for a moment (or in Ron's case, empty air) before nudging them gently. They climbed inside the coach and slammed the door shut, just moments before Hagrid's voice hollered "Gee up!" and the wheels began creaking. 


	6. Chapter Six

Harry watched the last light fade from the carriage windows as they rode in comfortable silence back to Hogwarts, each lost in their own thoughts. He found that the darker it got and the closer they got to the castle, the faster his heart pounded – when he saw the tall spires, sturdy stones, and smelt the freshness of the lake and the grounds, he stuck his head out the carriage window and took a deep breath, ignoring the jostling of the carriage in his armpit.  
  
"I know," Hermione said smiling, "The smell."  
  
"Home!" Harry said joyfully.  
  
Ginny and Ron shared a quick glance, but Harry was too enraptured with Hogwarts to notice.  
  
He watched the clouds sliding lazily across the pale eye of the full moon. "Shame Lupin couldn't be here," he added, feeling heady and drunk on the cool air, the night sky, the stars above North Tower...  
  
"He will be," Hermione said reassuringly.  
  
"I wonder what we'll be studying in Defense this year?" Harry said, fairly squirming to get more of his torso out the window.  
  
"Like a Muggle in Honeydukes, this one!" said Ginny, smiling wryly.  
  
Suddenly, Harry's head felt like it was going to split open. He felt an irrational burst of vindictive joy, quite unconnected to his own. His vision swam, and dimmed, and it was lucky that Ron grabbed the back of his robes, or he'd probably have fallen right out of the carriage.  
  
"Harry!" Ron shouted. Ginny and Hermione had stood up, and were wobbling on their feet. Harry retched over the side of the carriage. He saw out of his peripheral vision that other heads were now poking out of their carriages, and he ducked back in quickly.  
  
"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked.  
  
But Ginny pushed her roughly aside and shook Harry by the shoulders.  
  
"HARRY!" she shouted, "MUM – DAD – IS EVERYONE – THEY'RE NOT – "  
  
"No," Harry said, "it's not them...it's...something else...Someone else...and it's good news...several people are...are coming home?"  
  
"Coming home?" Hermione said quizzically.  
  
"Sure you're not just happy about us coming back to Hogwarts?" Ron asked.  
  
"No," Harry said, "Why would my scar hurt? Why would I be so happy?"  
  
"Well, maybe your scar hurt about something else He was doing, and you were just happy at the time?" Ginny asked thoughtfully.  
  
"No," Harry said, "It was definitely Him, and he's definitely happy."  
  
They squirmed uncomfortably in their seats.  
  
"Well, that can't be good," Ron said lightly.  
  
"I bet – Oh Harry," Hermione said with deep disappointment, "I bet they got out of prison."  
  
"Who?" Ron asked.  
  
"Honestly, Ron!" said Hermione, snorting, "Malfoy! And the other Death Eaters – which were they? I know I stunned Nott..."  
  
"Right," said Ron, "and there was Crabbe and Goyle senior...they both got taken."  
  
"Who was the one with the baby head?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh...that was...hmm...I think it was one of the Lestranges, I don't know which..."  
  
"They got a bunch of others, too...Rookwood, I think."  
  
"Bellatrix was one of the only ones to get away."  
  
Harry's hands curled into fists involuntarily. The image of her long hair, and heavy-lidded eyes flashed into his head...the sound of her patronizing baby talk...the image of Sirius falling in a graceful arc...Neville's mother pressing a Drooble's wrapper into his hand...she was the cause of all that suffering.  
  
"Don't worry, Harry," said Ron, "The Order's on it. We'll get her."  
  
"I know," Harry said through gritted teeth, "I just hope it's me that gets her first."  
  
Ginny and Hermione shared a look.  
  
"Try to...err...lighten up a bit, Harry," said Ginny.  
  
"Lighten –" but Hermione had diplomatically put a warning hand on his knee, and Harry knew he shouldn't snap at Ginny.  
  
"You're right," he said, "Sorry. I guess I'm not much fun anymore."  
  
"No! You are...you're just...you know, you've got a lot on your mind, that's all."  
  
Harry pondered whether he ought to tell them about the prophecy. He'd come close several times already this summer. But every time he had, he always backed down. It never seemed like quite the right moment. Saying it aloud would just appall them, and that would make it that much harder to bear – plus, he was already enough of a wet blanket. He didn't need to burden his best friends with even more of his whining. Besides, knowing too much could put them in danger...  
  
"Almost there!" Ginny said encouragingly, and Harry snapped out of his reverie to see that the carriages had indeed, arrived on Hogwarts grounds. Hermione was looking at him suspiciously, as though she could sense him holding something back.  
  
"Phwaoorgh...you can smell the kitchens from here!" Ron said, his eyes shimmering joyfully, "That's roast chicken, smell the rosemary?...Mmm, and shepherd's pie!"  
  
"You are a walking bottomless pit," Hermione said dismissively, "Two and half months away from Hogwarts, and all you can think about is the food."  
  
"Now Hermione, is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?" Ginny teased.  
  
"Ginny Weasley, I will hex you if you spread that around!"  
  
"Ooo, I don't know about that...Hermione the Prefect?" she said winking at Harry, "Could you survive if you hexed a student?"  
  
Hermione's eyebrow raised. "The question is, would you survive?" she replied glibly. Ginny giggled as Harry pointed out Ron's scarlet ears behind his back.  
  
They walked under the stone archway, elbow to elbow with their fellow students, hearing the dull roar of laughter and greetings, mingled with the shuffle of robes. They passed through the enormous oak doors into the Great Hall, where the vast stone archways faded into a beautiful blue night, spangled with stars, and draped with wisps of cloud cover. Torches flickered in their brackets, and students everywhere were hugging, shouting, waving, and laughing.  
  
They took their seats at the Gryffindor bench, and soon after, Dumbledore clinked his spoon against his glass. The hall slowly shifted from a loud cacophony to a hushed murmur.  
  
"Thank you," Dumbledore said, smiling gently, "Professor McGonagall? If you please?"  
  
Professor McGonagall came striding up the center of the hall, leading a gaggle of trembling first years.  
  
"Small crowd this year," Harry noted.  
  
"Yeah, they're tiny! Look at that kid with the blond hair, he's got to be half my height!"  
  
"No, Ron," said Hermione, "He means the number – look at the size of this year's incoming class."  
  
It was true – instead of the typical large incoming class, there were only about fifteen students there.  
  
"Well, err..." said Ginny. They all turned to look at her.  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry," she said with a grimace, "I heard Lupin on the Extendables. A lot of students have been deferring their acceptance for a year...I think...I think they might want to...wait until..."  
  
"Wait until I'm out of school?" Harry said dully.  
  
"Well, you and Lupin, yes," Ginny said apologetically.  
  
"Shh!" said a Gryffindor third year to his right, "They're going to start!"  
  
"Oh, hush up, you," said Ron. They all turned to watch McGonagall place the Sorting Hat on a stool in front of the Teacher's desk.  
  
As expected, the hat soon quivered with life, and a rip at the brim opened wide like a mouth – The Sorting Song began:  
  
Oh, welcome back to Hogwarts, your home away from home You second through the seventh years, from whersoe'er you've roamed. But before the feast begins, and we all break our bread It's time for you to place me now on every first year's head. For I can read your every thought, the secrets of your heart And I can tell exactly what sets each of you apart. A Gryffindor's courageous, with bravery in their bones They value all their friendships, and are rarely found alone. A Hufflepuff's a loyal, gentle, and hard-working soul These humble folk will try and try until they reach their goal. A Ravenclaw's intelligent, crafty, sharp, and wise, And Slytherins use any means to obtain their prize. Yet seeing through the years, the souls that live behind your names, I tend to see few differences, and note more what's the same. For every witch and wizard who ever yet did live Had hopes, fears, dreams, and nightmares, and each a gift to give. You're here to be divided, yes, it's that for which I'm made But now's the time when friends are found, and enemies are made. Choose carefully, you first years, which ones you make the most of. Having lots of enemies is not a trait to boast of. And upperclassmen would do well to heed my warning call If the houses don't unite, Hogwarts School will fall. For darkness falls upon us, and it's time for your true test: Will you meet the challenge and unite at my behest? Will distrust and fear point to Hogwarts new direction? Can you cross the old Divides and forge some new connections? Can you push yourself to see the darkness in your selves? Can you stand and fight alongside centaurs, goblins, elves? Can the Muggle and the Magic fight this fight together? Must we live in secrecy, now and for forever? Can the Pure and Muggle-borns reach a new accord? Can we just sit and share our bread across this ancient board? For just an hour, can we try to see the world tomorrow Instead of just the world we know that's wracked with ancient sorrow? Instead of giving answers, I give questions I'm afraid. I'm getting old, I'm getting patched, my edges all are frayed. I do not know the answers to the questions that I ask. The answer is the future, and that future is your task. You are the future of our world, so welcome to it, friends. I just begin the story. It's you that write the end.  
  
The last notes of the Sorting Hat's Song were so low they were practically spoken. The echo of the rasping voice lingered in the air of the Great Hall, then dissipated. Harry looked up at the Teacher's table, and was startled to see that Professor Sprout wasn't making any attempt to hide her shock. She exchanged a stunned look with Professor Flitwick, and Snape sat back in his chair with a finger to his lips as though he had just encountered a particularly puzzling math problem. Hagrid scratched his head with a puzzled expression, and leaned over and muttered a question to Dumbledore. Harry scanned Dumbledore's face. He didn't find surprise written there, but the slightest arch of his eyebrow, almost undetectable, let Harry know that he was, indeed, pondering deeply what the Sorting Hat had said this year. He was snapped out of his intense scrutiny as Dumbledore's eyes flicked over to meet his. Harry thought he saw the tiniest of nods, and he nodded back, though he wasn't quite sure what Dumbledore meant.  
  
"Did you hear the bit about the elves?" Hermione said, her eyes lighting up.  
  
"Here she goes again," Ron said, "Are we ever going to eat? It's hard to unite on an empty stomach."  
  
Harry caught Ginny stifling a giggle, and winked at her.  
  
"Err...First years! Yes, yes, right up to the front," said McGonagall, as though snapping out of a daydream. Hermione pointed over to the Slytherin table. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were huddled with a bunch of other Slytherins, and they didn't seem too happy with what the Sorting Hat had said.  
  
"Aaronson, Arthur," McGonagall said sternly, and a small boy who had an unfortunate tendency to hunch his shoulders walked up to the stool.  
  
The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and for a while, there was quiet.  
  
"Hmmm..." said the Sorting Hat, "Hmm...Difficult." There was another long pause.  
  
"I can't decide," the Sorting Hat said simply.  
  
There was a stunned silence, which was punctured suddenly by a few giggles. Slowly, other students began to join in. Even McGonagall had a confused smile on her face. Surely this was a joke – the Sorting Hat couldn't possible not decide – that was its job...to decide! Dumbledore, however, was not smiling, but frowning.  
  
"I can't decide," the Sorting Hat repeated, "I'd best try someone else."  
  
The laughter died quickly.  
  
"Headmaster?" Professor McGonagall asked in a terse whisper, as though whispering would conceal the fact that she was without a clue as to what to do.  
  
"Do as it asks, Professor," Dumbledore said quietly, still frowning. For once, you could have heard a pin drop in the Great Hall.  
  
"Yes," said McGonagall briskly, as though she had known that this would happen all along, "Just go to the back of the line, Mr. Aaronson, we'll have another go later."  
  
Looking like he was about to scribble a note to his family and fling himself from the Astronomy Tower, Arthur Aaronson slid off of the stool, and, hunching himself even lower, shuffled to the back of the line.  
  
"Bellenova, Electra?"  
  
Electra Bellenova swished her long black hair over her shoulder, walked confidently up to the stool, and sat herself down like she was going to show that hat a thing or two.  
  
The Sorting Hat was barely placed on her head, when it said, "Dear me, no. Far too close to call. I couldn't possibly."  
  
"Headmaster!" said McGonagall angrily, as Electra Bellenova's jaw dropped to her chest.  
  
"If I may, Minerva," said Dumbledore, standing and walking around the table. There was a collective intake of breath and all the Hogwarts students stiffened in their seats.  
  
"Hermione," said Ron, poking her arm with his eyes glued to the Sorting Hat, "Hermione – tell me what's going on?"  
  
"I...I don't know," said Hermione, "Harry?"  
  
"I haven't the slightest," Harry said, mystified. As far as Harry knew, Dumbledore had never, ever left his seat during the Sorting Ceremony, and surely the Sorting Hat had never done this before.  
  
"I wonder if I might have a word with our Sorting Hat," Dumbledore said politely to Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Err – of course," said McGonagall, handing Dumbledore the hat.  
  
"Why thank you," he said, smiling benignly. Then Dumbledore himself sat on the stool, and placed the Sorting Hat on top of his head.  
  
For a while, Dumbledore simply sat there, every once in a while, arching an eyebrow, or looking up to the ceiling. Once, he scowled at the floor, and stroked his beard.  
  
"Mmm..." he said, and every Hogwarts student held their breath and strained their ears.  
  
"Yes," he muttered quietly, "I see, and yet..." He trailed off, leaving everyone leaning over each other's dinner plates and half-lying across the table trying to get one inch closer to the front of the hall.  
  
"Well, I'm afraid it is, you see..." he said, more insistently. Ginny had actually climbed off the bench and was sitting on the tabletop, leaning forward.  
  
"Well, I think you've made your point," Dumbledore said amiably, but Harry detected that finality in his voice which meant the discussion was over, "Now if you don't mind, I think –"  
  
Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up to the ceiling, and there was actually a collective gasp from the student body.  
  
"I'm afraid it is not your position to lecture to my students, as you are not currently a professor in the employ of Hogwarts School," Dumbledore said, barely audible, and Harry again recognized that friendly tone that whispered of danger. "It is as much an administrative issue as...but I DO see your point."  
  
"Oh!" said Hermione, clapping a hand to her mouth.  
  
"You'd better tell us now before you run off to the library!" Ron said warningly.  
  
"Well, I – I think that the Hat is refusing to sort the first years because...because it wants us to unite. It thinks that sorting the first years into their houses will cause even more division between –"  
  
But Hermione was interrupted, as Dumbledore stood and removed the hat, smiling benignly.  
  
"The Sorting Hat," he said, holding up his hands for attention, "Is not feeling well, and apologizes for any discomfort he may have caused, particularly to you, Mr. Aaronson, and you, Ms. Bellenova," he said, nodding at them.  
  
Mr. Aaronson looked as though if one more person were to look at him that night he might spontaneously combust. Ms. Bellenova on the other hand, smiled and even went so far as to nod back politely, as though Dumbledore had just apologized for a typo, or mispronouncing her name.  
  
"He is quite prepared to sort you now, but before he does so, I think we are probably long overdue," he continued, "for a bit of an explanation as to why, exactly we sort our students in the first place."  
  
With that, Dumbledore strode around the table, as excited whispers and buzzes echoed around the hall. Ron's stomach gave a loud growl.  
  
"Honestly, Ron, this is important!" Hermione clucked.  
  
"It's my stomach, Hermione!" Ron said, "It's not like I can turn it off!"  
  
"Quiet, quiet please," McGonagall admonished to the Hall in general.  
  
"Thank you, Minerva," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "I will try to be brief."  
  
"As many of you know, Hogwarts School was founded by four very close friends – Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. While each of these witches and wizards had very different gifts, talents, and desires for the school, it is important to note that they were indeed, best of friends, and shared a common vision – a school, where witches and wizards could learn their craft through cooperation. However," Dumbledore continued, "Not all of the original four were able to get along. The rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin," he continued, "is perhaps the most obvious example of this. Yet what is not known is that even the remaining three founders found it difficult at times to work together, especially as each of them took a very different line of approach with their students."  
  
Dumbledore paused and took a deep breath, "It was for this reason that the Sorting Hat was charmed into life. The founders felt that the Sorting represented exactly what they had intended for the school – it honored the differences in temperament between the founders and their respective students, and allowed them to partner with their peers. The friendly competition between the houses inspired students to greater heights, and yet, all of the houses remained bound into one cohesive whole – you'll note our coat of arms," Dumbledore said, proudly indicating one of the many massive shields that decorated the Great Hall, "bears the mark of each of the houses."  
  
"In recent years, however," Dumbledore said, "It seems that the old rancor between the founders is threatening to tear the very shield that defends us asunder. Furthermore," he continued, "Sorting is in and of itself a rather intricate art, though never imprecise. Put simply, the Sorting Hat is never wrong, but he is unable to tell the whole story – individuals being so highly...individual," he said with a smile, "It would be silly to assume that all Gryffindors are alike, or that they share nothing in common with Slytherins. A simple glance at the diversity you find in your own house will confirm the truth of this. Or, the similarities you find between yourselves and members of other houses. The lines we draw between one another," Dumbledore said smiling, "Are seldom as thick as we think, and never straight."  
  
Dumbledore held the tips of his long fingers together, and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, in which the whole school held their breath and wondered whether he had finished. Suddenly, Dumbledore continued:  
  
"It is not my wish to alarm you. But I am sure you have read some very disturbing things in the Daily Prophet this summer, and have probably heard news from your parents, as well."  
  
The air around Harry seemed to have gotten heavier. Harry could feel, rather than see the weight of Voldemort's return weighing on everyone's shoulders. Some had suddenly looked down at the table. Others were squirming nervously, while some, like Malfoy, simply stared at the Headmaster unblinkingly, as though to say, "So what?" Others, like Ron, stared open-mouthed at the Headmaster, amazed that he would actually bring this up at the Sorting Ceremony – what was meant to be a festive, and upbeat welcome to the school, was rapidly turning into a press conference.  
  
"You are aware then, of the stakes at hand. It is not only out of desire for pleasantry and comfort that we have been urging you to stand together," Dumbledore said gravely, his voice expanding to fill the vibrating air, "It is not out of a flimsy desire to 'make nice,' that we ask to you to step up to this important task. It is absolutely essential. It was the desire of the founders that our differences make us strong, rather than weak – that we both recognize what separates us, yet refuse to allow it to divide us. It is in this spirit which the Sorting Hat concedes to conclude this year's Sorting."  
  
"Now!" he said brightly, clapping his hands, and it seemed that even the torches in the room burned brighter, "Let us begin the Sorting! Err, begin again, that is."  
  
"Aaronson, Arthur?"  
  
But they all had turned back to each other and were discussing in hushed tones.  
  
"Unbelievable!" Ron breathed.  
  
"So you were paying attention, then?" Hermione said dryly.  
  
"D'you have to snarl at me like that? You know, that's not a very attractive quality," said Ron huffily.  
  
"Enough," Harry said, "What do you reckon?"  
  
"I've never heard of the Sorting Hat acting like that ever before," said Hermione, "Ever. And that's saying something."  
  
"Indeed, it is" said Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington nodding sagely, who had abruptly stuck his head through the table and floated himself between Ron and Hermione, "So sorry to be late. What have I missed?" he asked confidentially.  
  
There was a brief pause as they stared at him in disbelief.  
  
"Have you any idea what we've just been saying?" Hermione said, amusedly.  
  
"Err...well, no, afraid not. Care to fill me in?"  
  
"Nick," said Harry, "Have you ever heard of the Sorting Hat refusing to sort anyone?"  
  
Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House Ghost, laughed wryly, his head wobbling on his ruff, "Not likely. That's what it's made for, isn't it? Sorting is its whole reason for being. A Sorting Hat that doesn't Sort? More of just a Hat, then, isn't it?"  
  
And chuckling to himself, he floated down the table to make the rounds.  
  
"Wyrd, Emily!" McGonagall called.  
  
"My that was fast!" Hermione exclaimed, "We've missed nearly the whole thing!"  
  
"Not that many this year, remember?" Harry said, remembering that he himself was probably one of the main "dividing issues" on campus this year.  
  
"Ravenclaw!" cried the Sorting Hat, and Emily Wyrd scurried over to the Ravenclaw table. Harry looked over to his right, and was surprised to see several new faces staring at him. They quickly turned away, and studied the ceiling or the table. Restraining the urge to make a scary face and shout "Boo," Harry forced a smile.  
  
"Hello," he said as pleasantly as possible. Arthur Aaronson let out a squeak.  
  
"He doesn't bite," Ginny said waving, "I'm Ginny. That's my brother Ron, and that's Hermione. And...well, this is Harry, but I suppose you knew that."  
  
"A – A – A – A – Ar – Ar –"  
  
"Arthur Aaronson?" Hermione asked, smiling patiently.  
  
He nodded mutely. There was no time for more introductions however, for Dumbledore had stood again, with a highly grave expression on his face.  
  
"I must make you aware," he intoned, his great booming voice tolling over them like a church bell, "of a matter which will require your full attention for at least the next hour."  
  
There was a barely stifled groan.  
  
"Dinner," Dumbledore said, a smile playing on his lips, "Is served."  
  
And suddenly the boards were groaning under the weight of whole roasted chickens, Shepherd's pie, bangers and mash, honeyed carrots, baked yams, leafy salads, crusty oat bread with fresh butter, Quiche Lorraine, Yorkshire Pudding, and the largest chocolate cake anyone had ever seen.  
  
Ron tucked his napkin into his robes, and with a wink at Hermione, began helping himself. Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry caught her sneaking a few extra dinner rolls as well. Harry looked at the steaming, delicious food on his golden plate, and inhaled deeply, relishing the deja-vu from previous years. The sound of conversation and laughter filled the hall again. He looked from Ron, to Hermione, to Ginny, as they tucked in with a will, and up at the ceiling, and the banners streaming from the buttresses, and the torches flickering at the walls, and felt like his heart could never contain all of it.  
  
"Wo' ivit, 'Arry?" Ron asked with his cheeks stuffed like a hamster, "Oo feewin' a'ight?  
  
"I'm fine," Harry said smiling, and tucked in to the feast.  
  
After they had all eaten their fill and were idly picking at what was left of their chocolate cake, Dumbledore stood once more.  
  
"Just a few words more, and then 'Goodnight, indeed.' Our caretaker, Mr. Filch has posted a list in each common room of items which are forbidden from the hallways. Which now include," Dumbledore said with a smile, "the entire stock of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which," he continued innocently, "you are absolutely NOT to contact via owl order. Mr. Filch was very clear that I stress that point."  
  
Hagrid spat wine back into his goblet as he chuckled, and Filch looked murderous.  
  
"And the Forbidden Forest, is, of course...Forbidden. Go, now!" Dumbledore said, "And empty those heads! You've got to make quite a bit of room for new things."  
  
"That's us," Hermione said, standing.  
  
"See you later, Harry," Ron said, "Bye, Gin. Oh, the password's Nebulus." He turned to the four new Gryffindors and hollered, "First years! This way please!"  
  
"Err, Ron, there's only four of them," Hermione said, "Come on, then, follow us. What's your name?"  
  
"Broderick...Broderick Johnson. I'm Angelina's brother."  
  
Harry let out a large stretch and a yawn. "Suppose we might as well follow them," he said.  
  
"Sure!" Ginny said, "I'll walk with you."  
  
"Oh," Harry said, a bit surprised, "Sure." He figured that was fairly obvious, seeing as they shared the same common room...  
  
"Harry!" shouted Neville, running over.  
  
"Oh...err...actually, you go ahead, Gin...Sorry."  
  
"Oh," she said, "Alright then. See you tomorrow!"  
  
"Did I?..." Neville said, looking from Harry to Ginny, as she walked away.  
  
"Did you what?" Harry said. He dearly wished his friends were more in the habit of finishing their sentences...  
  
"Err..nevermind. What is it you wanted to ask me?"  
  
"Right," Harry said, "Err...it's sort of a favor. And it's...well, it's sort of big. We probably shouldn't talk here..." Harry realized uncomfortably that he himself was being rather vague. He looked over at the Headmaster, who was chatting merrily with Hagrid and Professor McGonagall. As if on cue, he held up a finger, and glanced over to Harry.  
  
Harry lifted his eyebrows, and jerked his head slightly at Neville, as though to ask, "How about him?" An odd expression came over Dumbledore's face – it was somewhat reserved. He then smiled, however, and nodded.  
  
"Okay," Harry said happily, "it's all set."  
  
"It is?" Neville said, bewildered.  
  
"Well, if you'll do it that is. I imagine Dumbledore will set it up and call us to his office some time tomorrow."  
  
"Oh," said Neville, clearly bewildered, "That's alright then. Err, if we hurry, Harry, we can catch Ginny before she goes to bed."  
  
"Oh," Harry said, "Sure. I'm sorry, did you need to talk to her?"  
  
Neville looked at Harry surprised, "No...No, I'm fine. Well, let's go then."  
  
"Okay," Harry said. He shook his head and took a deep breath as they left the Great Hall – it had been a weird night.  
  
Harry's feet took him automatically up to the dormitories, as he and Neville fell into a comfortable silence. They entered the common room to find a small gaggle of Gryffindors bidding goodnight to each other. Ginny was halfway up the staircase.  
  
"Oi – Ginny!" called Harry.  
  
She turned around, and smiled at him, "Night night, then! G'nite Neville!"  
  
"Night!"  
  
They mounted the stairs, and opened the door to their dormitory. Everyone was settling into their beds, and hangings were jostling on their rings. Harry saw where his trunk was laid, just the same as every year, Hedwig resting happily on her perch.  
  
"Hi, Hedwig," Harry said, stroking her feathers affectionately. You can go to the Owlery if you like, don't let me keep you."  
  
She nuzzled his hand, and nipped his finger affectionately. As Harry turned to look at the rich red hangings around his bed, he found a small note was pinned to them, rather near the bottom of the curtains. He unpinned it, and was happy to see a painstakingly scrawled note:  
  
"Welcome Back, Harry Potter! Sincerely, Dobby."  
  
"How about that speech tonight?" Dean Thomas said, climbing under his covers.  
  
"Hang the speech!" Ron said excitedly, chucking his Prefect's badge on his nightstand, "Could you believe the Sorting Hat??"  
  
"I know!"  
  
"Wicked!"  
  
Harry noted that Seamus wasn't saying anything, and he had been rather anxious for his opinion.  
  
"Oi Seamus – What d'you reckon?" Harry asked amiably of the red curtains around Seamus' bed. There was a long silence.  
  
"Well, you might say something!" Harry said, feeling a bit put out. He hadn't done anything to make the Sorting Hat do what it did...If anything, he wanted to hear Seamus finally admit that Harry had been right, and that Voldemort had returned, that he was sorry for being such a prat last year...  
  
But there was no reply.  
  
"Err...Harry," said Dean, "Seamus isn't coming to school this year."  
  
"Why not?" Harry asked, anxiously, "He's alright, isn't he?"  
  
"Oh yeah, he's fine," Dean said quickly, "It's just...well, you know how his mother is..."  
  
Yet again, the bubble of happiness inside Harry's chest was suddenly popped. He climbed into bed without saying anything.  
  
"Harry," said Dean, "We all believe you. Well," he continued, "I mean, it's not really an issue of believing you or not anymore...I think, Seamus just didn't feel safe here...not with what's going on and all."  
  
"Well, what if he's right," Harry said angrily, "Why don't we all just pack up and go home then?"  
  
"Look, Harry, it's no use telling us –"  
  
"This is exactly what the Sorting Hat was talking about!" Harry shouted, "Only now our own house is splitting up! It's like he thinks Hogwarts was just some big sand castle where he could amuse himself, and now that the bloody tide's come in, he's just packing it off home to his Mum. Well, Hogwarts is my home, and no matter what happens, I'm staying!"  
  
"Alright, Harry, relax!"  
  
Harry took a deep breath and counted to ten. He knew he musn't get too upset right before bed...he would be vulnerable...  
  
"I'm really sorry, Dean, I shouldn't've shouted," he said dully.  
  
But a small, ugly voice inside him whispered, "Fine, I'm tired of apologizing for being right all the time."  
  
"It's alright, Harry," said Dean, "We're on your side. Just don't forget."  
  
"'Course not," Harry said, feeling genuinely abashed now, "I was being a prat. Sorry."  
  
"Yeah, you were actually" said Ron mischievously, chucking a pillow at him, "Now go to sleep, or I'll make you do my homework for detention."  
  
Harry grinned and chucked it back. It hit Ron square in the face.  
  
"Nice save, Keeper."  
  
"Right, I'll have you for that one," Ron said, winding up for another throw.  
  
Neville yawned and rolled over. Feeling a bit guilty, they whispered their goodnights and pulled the hangings shut.  
  
Harry squirmed his toes under the sheets...Dobby had, no doubt, filled one of the brass bed warmers with coals and placed it under his sheets just before the feast ended. Harry felt a small twinge, at the note and his warm feet, and resolved to pay Dobby a visit in the kitchens.  
  
He took a deep breath, and before he could exhale, he was asleep. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven  
  
Harry was walking down a corridor. At first, his heart fell – but then he realized this was not the Ministry of Magic, not the same nightmare he'd been having all summer. This was Hogwarts – but it seemed oddly deserted. He heard an odd noise bouncing off of the stone walls...like someone shouting. Someone he knew.  
  
Suddenly, he was in Potions class. Professor Snape was wearing Neville's grandmother's hat again, and the whole class was laughing. But Harry found it far from funny, as Snape was staring him down with murder glinting in his eye.  
  
"I suppose you think this is funny, Potter?" he barked, "Let's see how funny you find this! [I]Leglimens![/I]"  
  
And now Harry [I]was[/I] walking down the corridor of the Department of Mysteries. He struggled in his sleep, aware that he was dreaming, trying to wake himself up. Sirius's yells were coming from far down the corridor – he was being tortured. Harry turned around, closed his eyes, and ran.  
  
Suddenly, he was back at Hogwarts, in front of Dumbledore's office. He stopped running abruptly, and felt his heart stop pounding. He straightened his robes, and walked up to the stone gargoyle.  
  
"Ice Mice," he said, and stepped onto the stone staircase.  
  
He entered Dumbledore's office to find several of the portraits smiling at him. Dumbledore stood from behind his desk.  
  
"Ah, Harry!" he said amiably.  
  
Harry looked about confusedly. He went to pinch himself.  
  
"Aah – I wouldn't do that yet, Harry," Dumbledore said pleasantly.  
  
"Am I dreaming?" Harry asked, befuddled.  
  
"Yes and no," Dumbledore said, "Yes, you are dreaming, but no, this is not, strictly speaking, a dream." He smiled at Harry above the rims of his glasses. "Lord Voldemort is not the only Leglimens in the wizarding world, Harry."  
  
"Oh," Harry said. He should have realized – he often had the feeling Dumbledore knew more than he let on.  
  
"Hang on," Harry said, "Why haven't you done this before? Why haven't you visited my dreams? Have you read my mind before?"  
  
"And what have you seen?" his conscience nagged anxiously.  
  
"Well, unlike Lord Voldemort, Harry," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "I highly value the mental privacy of others. You'll note that rather than invade your dream, I directed you here, to my office. This is to ensure that I don't accidentally invade parts of your mind you would prefer to remain closed."  
  
"Wait a minute," Harry said distrustingly, "How do I know it's you?"  
  
"An excellent question!" said Dumbledore looking delighted, "I am quite pleased you asked, actually – though I shouldn't be surprised – your Defense scores always were quite high. I will simply tell you some information that no one else would know," Dumbledore said, "For example, that Sirius Black, and Buckbeak the steely gray hippogriff (who incidentally had orange eyes) was freed by you and Miss Granger during your third year through clever use of a time-turner. Another," Dumbledore said modestly, "Of my more brilliant ideas. Will that suffice?"  
  
Harry thought about this for a moment. He knew that Lord Voldemort was a skilled Leglimens, but this information really didn't seem like something he'd have any way of knowing about – especially the small details, like Buckbeak's coloration. Then he remembered Kreacher – he had seen Buckbeak in the attic, surely, and might have heard the story of their escpae – he was about to speak when Dumbledore interrupted.  
  
"I see...Hmm...this might prove more difficult than I'd expected. Ah yes. In your first year, Hagrid made a gift to you of a photo album containing wizarding photographs of your parents. I gave him time off of work to complete it."  
  
Harry felt more confident now that this was information Lord Voldemort couldn't possibly possess. Morever, he [I]felt[/I] that this was Dumbledore – there was nothing about this visitation that reeked of Lord Voldemort – he didn't have the same cold, clammy feeling, or the uncomfortable sense that his mind was being directed somewhere against his will.  
  
"Okay," Harry said, "It's you, but – err – this still isn't very safe, is it? I mean...Lord Voldemort could be watching."  
  
"So far as we know, Harry," said Dumbledore, "He has had far more success putting things into your head than taking them out – you on the other hand, have had far more success taking things out of his head than putting them in. However, you are, of course, correct. So I will only say this – Please bring the Droobles Boy here to Honeydukes, and I'll give him something to Keep." He looked at Harry over the rims of his glasses, "You understand my meaning?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said, nodding, "You approve, then?"  
  
Dumbledore seemed lost in thought.  
  
"I'd rather not discuss it here," he said, "The both of you should come as soon as you wake up...which should be right about—"  
  
"Harry!" called Ron, and Harry felt someone shaking his shoulder.  
  
"Ah," Dumbledore said smilingly, "Don't forget, now."  
  
"Harry! Wake up!"  
  
Harry blinked blearily, Dumbledore's office fading around him. Ron was smiling at him.  
  
"Come on, then," he said, "Breakfast!"  
  
"Sure," Harry said, groggily reaching over for his glasses. Ron came sharply into focus. Harry was suddenly seized with a slight panic.  
  
"Neville," he said, "Neville's here, isn't he?"  
  
"No," Ron said confusedly, "He went down to breakfast."  
  
"Oh – okay. I just...had to ask him something."  
  
"It's not about Ginny is it," Ron said frowningly, "Because he said something about needing to apologize to her this morning...something about interrupting you."  
  
Harry laughed, "Neville doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't worry about it."  
  
"Oh...alright then," Ron said. He sounded relieved, but Harry thought he could also detect a little disappointment in his voice. He shrugged it off, and pulled his feet into his uniform pants.  
  
A short while later, they were sitting at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was obscured behind the Daily Prophet, Ginny was stabbing a grapefruit half rather viciously, and Neville was turning a Droobles Best Blowing Gum wrapper over and over in his fingers, with a melancholy expression.  
  
"Err – everything alright?" Ron asked, eyeing his sister as though she might explode.  
  
"Ruddy – Death Eaters – Ruddy – Prison," Ginny said, continuing to viciously murder her grapefruit.  
  
"You'll want to read this," Hermione said, nodding at the paper even as she was reading it. Harry scanned the headline.  
  
"Notorious Death Eaters Escape Yet Again. Ministry Infuriated and Embarrassed by Azkaban Guards."  
  
"No need," Harry said glumly, "Suppose we know what it's about, don't we?"  
  
"You [I]did[/I] tell Dumbledore about your vision, didn't you?" Hermione asked.  
  
Harry realized guiltily that he probably ought to have – Dumbledore might have been able to stop the escape. Hermione look at him disapprovingly, and returned to her paper. He felt a little surge of anger towards Hermione.  
  
He saw Neville folding the gum wrapper, and it jogged his memory.  
  
"Err – Neville," Harry said, "I...wanted to talk to you about Luna," he said.  
  
"Huh?" Neville said going a bit pink.  
  
"I think I might have found her class schedule," Harry lied.  
  
"Neville!" Ron said teasingly, "I'd no idea. Go for it, mate – saved my neck, and no mistake."  
  
"Really, Ron!" Hermione said sharply, for Neville had gone bright red. Harry felt a bit bad for embarrassing him so badly.  
  
"Come on," he said, flashing his eyebrows at him, hoping he'd understand, "Won't take a minute..."  
  
Neville seemed to realize something was up, because he followed Harry out of the hallway.  
  
"Oi! Don't you want breakfast?" Ron said, frowning, as he sat down to eggs, bacon, and toast.  
  
"Bring me some toast to History of Magic," Harry said, "I'll eat it in back."  
  
Harry and Neville made their way through the corridors quickly.  
  
"Err, Harry where are we—"  
  
"Shh," Harry said, "I'm sorry Neville, you'll find out in a minute."  
  
Before they knew it, they were at the stone gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office. Neville made a timid noise in the back of his throat, but thought better of it, and didn't ask any questions.  
  
"Ice Mice," Harry whispered, and he and Neville stepped onto the stairway as it opened up.  
  
As they arrived in the office, Professor Dumbledore was staring into his foe glass. Shadowy figures were moving about in it – Harry thought he recognized Cornelius Fudge's bowler hat flickering in the distance, but nobody was close.  
  
"At least for now," he thought.  
  
As though he had heard someone speaking, Dumbledore looked up, and smiled at them.  
  
"Ah, good," Dumbledore said, "I was about to send you an OWL – I had hoped you wouldn't think it was just a dream."  
  
"A dream?" Neville said, seeming to realize something.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said, smiling, "I hope I didn't intrude."  
  
"Oh...No, not at all. Err, Headmaster," he added nervously.  
  
"Professor will do quite nicely," Dumbledore said smilingly, "Please, have a seat," and he drew up several squashy armchairs in mid-air with his wand.  
  
"I took the liberty," Dumbledore said, indicating a portrait near the floor of a rather portly witch eating breakfast, "Dobby?" The portrait abruptly swung open, and Dobby the house-elf emerged, carrying tray of three plates, heaped high with steaming sausages, eggs, bacon, and toast.  
  
"Dobby!" Harry said happily, "I got your note."  
  
"You did, sir? Oh, Dobby is most pleased!" The house elf said, nearly dropping the tray as he stifled a little hop of excitement.  
  
"Thank you very much, Dobby," Dumbledore said kindly.  
  
"Oh, not at all, Headmaster, not at all. Dobby is most pleased to be of service."  
  
"Thank you, Dobby."  
  
"Any times at all that you is hungry, sirs, just call Dobby down the kitchen, he'll take care of you. That goes for you too, friend of Harry," Dobby said, nodding at Neville.  
  
"Yes, Dobby, thank you," Dumbledore said a bit more firmly.  
  
"You'll be excusing me, young sirs. Headmaster!" and with a final nod of his head, which was adorned with several of Hermione's knit caps, he was out the portrait.  
  
"Tuck in," Dumbledore said, and Harry and Neville began to eat, listening attentively.  
  
"Well, Neville, in case you haven't surmised the purpose of our meeting here, allow me to fill you in," Dumbledore said, "Harry here – well, more specifically his [I]family[/I], are in need of a Secret Keeper."  
  
Neville's mouth hung open – an unpleasant sight as it was partly full of scrambled eggs. "You...you want...me?" he asked of Dumbledore. He turned to Harry, befuddled, "Why?"  
  
"Well," Dumbledore said delicately, "Harry trusts you with his life. And has," he added, "if you'll recall. Plus, you are one of Harry's friends that He Who Must Not Be Named would be less liable to suspect."  
  
Harry noted how Dumbledore avoided Voldemort's name for Neville's sake, and was oddly touched by it.  
  
Neville thought about this for a moment, and his face fell slightly.  
  
"I get it," he said, "I'm a bluff. You picked me because...because nobody would ever pick me."  
  
"No!" Harry said quickly, looking to Dumbledore for help, "It's not that –"  
  
"It's okay," Neville said, forcing a smile to Dumbledore, "I understand. I'm ready to help."  
  
Harry felt his insides wrench with guilt. He was asking Neville to put his life on the line to protect his, and he had managed to do it in the most hurtful way possible.  
  
"You do understand, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said seriously, "The implications of this decision? It is very possible that should Voldemort—" Neville's eyes went round, "—and his Death Eaters discover that you hold this secret, they will track you down and seek to...extract this information from you. You know yourself that they will stop at nothing," Dumbledore said gently.  
  
Neville's hand strayed to his robes pocket. He turned to look at Harry, and Harry recognized the same fire in his eyes that had emerged during their D.A. training last year.  
  
"I won't let you down, Harry."  
  
Harry nodded, a lump in his throat, "I knew you wouldn't. [I]That's[/I] why I chose you, Neville."  
  
"Yeah," Neville said, grinning shyly, "That, and I'm the last person Lord...You Know Who would expect...I guess being sort of hopeless worked out in the end."  
  
"You are far from hopeless, Mr. Longbottom," smiled Dumbledore.  
  
"Neville –" said Harry, searching for words, "I can't – I don't know how..."  
  
"It's alright, Harry," Neville said grinning, "I can really help this way. I want to."  
  
Harry nodded. He hadn't expected to feel quite so much this morning. He had been so used to looking out for himself, looking out for others, that putting his life in someone else's hands had quite an affect on him.  
  
Dumbledore closed his eyes and began muttering the words of the incantation – Harry caught Neville's name in Latin, and the word "Fidelius." Dumbledore opened his eyes and nodded at Harry. Harry leaned over to Neville, and whispered in his ear.  
  
"Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."  
  
Dumbledore whispered a few more words, and suddenly, Harry was blown back into his chair, and Dumbledore stumbled into his, as a wave of powerful magic ripped in concentric circles from Neville's body. Neville's plate went clattering to the floor, as he gripped the arms of his chair. He looked quite pale.  
  
"I – is it always l-like that?" he stuttered.  
  
Dumbledore seemed to have a look on his face that was both surprised and knowing.  
  
"No," Harry said, simply.  
  
"Well, gentlemen, I suppose you had better get to class," Dumbledore said, simply. They were walking towards the door, when Harry remembered something.  
  
"Professor! Could I have one more quick word?"  
  
"Certainly, Harry."  
  
"I'll tell Binns you'll be late, Harry," Neville said, stepping onto the staircase.  
  
"Thanks, Neville," Harry said walking back to the armchair.  
  
"Yes, Harry?"  
  
"Well, I...Look, I don't know how to say this," Harry said squirming once more with guilt, "But the night we came back to Hogwarts, in the carriage, I felt...happy. I mean, Voldemort felt happy. And I think it was because –"  
  
Dumbledore held up a hand, and smiled, "I have read the Prophet today, Harry. And please, don't blame yourself. It was only a matter of time, really – I am surprised that it has taken this long. But I would appreciate it," he added, "If you would let me know the next time a vision like this occurs – you see now just how important it is. I would prefer even moreso," Dumbledore said, "If you could close your mind completely. The risk of Voldemort invading your mind is far greater than the benefits of invading his, especially now that he is aware you possess that ability. Be sure to remind Professor Snape of that after class today."  
  
Harry's face fell, and Dumbledore smiled, "Remember the Sorting Hat, Mr. Potter. Try. That's all I'm asking."  
  
Harry nodded, "Something else – you seemed...I don't know. Confused when I picked Neville."  
  
Dumbledore's brow furrowed, "Not confused, Harry. A bit worried perhaps. You will have noticed, of course, that your choice is very similar to your father's – a choice that proved catastrophic. Neville and Peter, for all their better qualities and their faults, are both followers rather than leaders, and neither a wizard of tremendous skill."  
  
"Neville would [I]never[/I] betray me," Harry said, surprised that Dumbledore would even suggest it.  
  
"No, of course not," Dumbledore said, "I think you have chosen someone quite trustworthy. I only wonder whether Voldemort will call your bluff."  
  
Harry wasn't sure what to make of this, and furrowed his brow a bit. If Dumbledore thought choosing Neville was a bad idea, he might have said something [I]before[/I] performing the Fidelius charm.  
  
"I thought," Dumbledore continued, "If the situation changes, or we receive new inelligence that Voldemort is wise to us, perhaps you could change...but that decision also proved unfortunate for your parents," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard and staring off into space. For a while, Harry contemplated Dumbledore's face, trying to read a bit into what was running through his head. Finally he looked down at Harry as though surprised he was still there.  
  
"You're going to be quite late, Harry!" he said, "Nevermind – just tell Professor Binns you were with me. I doubt," he said smiling wryly, "he will notice. A treasure trove of information, Professor Binns, but not terribly observant."  
  
"Do you think I made the right choice, Professor?" Harry asked, point- blank.  
  
Dumbledore sighed, "I wish I could tell you, Harry. But only time can tell. And speaking of time, hurry now!" he said, waving his wand at the staircase. It began to descend, and Harry trotted over.  
  
"Thanks, Professor!" he shouted, as he sank lower and lower.  
  
"Of course, Harry!" said Dumbledore, and Harry was left with the image of Dumbledore slowly rising out of his line of sight, as the office disappeared into the darkness of the stairway wall.  
  
The sound of Harry's feet slapping on the stone floors echoed off the stone hallways as he ran to class. Professor Binns, Hogwarts' only ghost professor, hardly noticed when he entered the room and plowed on reading his notes, casually waving his wand at the board where the chalk scrawled of its own accord. Harry stood there awkwardly for a moment, and was just contemplating scrapping his apology and sneaking to his seat, when Binns' pearlescent frame floated in his direction, and he caught Harry's eye.  
  
"Late again, I see!" he wheezed chalkily, "I sometimes wonder why you bother showing up at all, Mr. Potter!"  
  
The class tittered, and Harry blushed a bit. Binns had never chewed him out quite like this...  
  
"No cohort today?" Binns said dryly.  
  
"Cohort? Oh –" Harry scanned the back row and found Ron giving him a mock thumbs up, as Neville blushed in embarrassment.  
  
"No, err...Cohorts were on time today."  
  
Binns looked up to the back row where Ron was sitting.  
  
"Not him, you foolish boy!" he wheezed, "Young Master Black!"  
  
Harry felt rooted to the spot. The class had gone very quiet.  
  
"Hmmph," Binns chunnered, "No doubt up to some mischief, by the look on your face. Five points from Gryffindor for being late, and five to your miscreant friend for skivving off. And be glad it isn't more, Mr. Potter! Now up to your seat!"  
  
Rather than walking, Harry felt he was gliding like Binns up to his chair. There was a rushing sound in his ears, and he seemed to be moving in slow motion. Sirius? What had Binns meant about Sirius? Was Sirius really a ghost at Hogwarts? But...how could that...  
  
"Harry," Ron whispered.  
  
He snapped out of it, and looked at Ron, who was eyeing him with a pained expression. Neville gave him a smile too, which somehow made Harry feel worse.  
  
"It's not...he's just got it all mixed up mate," said Ron, "He thinks you're your Dad."  
  
Harry suddenly feel with a bump back to reality. Of course. Professor Binns had been teaching God only knew how long...and he had a tendency to mix up students. The look on his face must have been awful, because Ron chucked him on the arm a bit harder than necessary and dropped a folded napkin onto his desk.  
  
"We brought you some breakfast, Harry! Toast, and there's some bacon in between there..."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, shaking his head to clear away his funk, "Why do we have to take this stupid class anyway? We failed our OWL..."  
  
"I know," Ron said, "It's a requirement. Hermione's got NEWT-level at a different time."  
  
Harry nodded. He didn't really care at that point, but was glad the conversation had been redirected...  
  
"Sirius is [I]dead...DEAD[/I]," he thought viciously, "and you should be paying attention."  
  
Harry found that he was so intent on not thinking about Sirius that he completely forgot about Neville's awesome burst of power, about Secret Keepers, about Voldemort even, and launched himself into note-taking on the various developments throughout the 19th century in legislation pertaining to giants, goblins, elves and other non-human magical creatures.  
  
After class, Hermione caught up with them in the hallway, and flipped idly through Harry's notes as he looked for his schedule in his school bag.  
  
"Well done, Harry! I think that's the most notes you've taken in Binns class ever!"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, feeling a bit annoyed by her enthusiasm, "Great."  
  
"Potions next," said Hermione, checking her schedule. Harry groaned mentally.  
  
"Oi – that reminds me! Great news!" Ron said, beaming. Then his face fell slightly, "Well...sort of great. Sort of awful, really."  
  
"What are you talking about Ron?" Harry asked.  
  
"I found a loophole – well, Hermione did," Ron said, smiling at her stern glance, "Asked McGonagall this morning, after you left. I'm auditing NEWT level Potions."  
  
"Auditing?!"  
  
"Yeah," said Ron beaming, "Means I can take the class, only I won't get credit for it. If I get an E on the final exam this year, I can take seventh-year, NEWT level Potions for credit next year. It means one less credit for this year...that I'll have to make up...but I'll still have a shot at Auror if I ace my NEWTs!"  
  
"That's great, Ron!" Harry said, his heart leaping in his chest. He remembered how disappointed Ron was when he hadn't gotten E's on his Potions Owl, and he caught Hermione smiling to herself out of the corner of his eye. He had to hand it to her – when she set her mind to something...  
  
"Yeah...Great," Ron said, his smile turning slowly to a frown, "Don't suppose we could skive off our first class, eh?"  
  
"What's that, Weasel-King? I hope you're not planning on missing Potions today...Because you know, it's my responsibility as Prefect to report any truancy to our head of House..."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. Great. Another charming addition to his first day of class.  
  
"Hmm...that's funny, Harry. I could've sworn I heard the sound of a great ugly git flapping his gums, but there's only Malfoy here...How odd..."  
  
"Hello, Draco," said Hermione briskly, "First day going alright?"  
  
Harry and Ron stopped and stared at her. She gave them a funny warning sort of look, but Harry was mystified, and from Ron's appalled expression, so was he. Draco didn't seem much less surprised, and Crabbe and Goyle, who were, as usual, lurking behind Malfoy, had their customary befuddled scowl painted over their faces.  
  
"Well, it [I]was[/I] going just fine," Draco said snootily, "What do you want, Granger?"  
  
"Nothing," Hermione said, "Just making conversation."  
  
"My left foot," Draco said eyeing her with mingled disdain and suspicion, "What are you up to?"  
  
"[I]Nothing,[/I] Draco. We'd better go." And with that, she turned and started walking towards the Potions dungeon.  
  
"Right..." Draco said, regaining his footing, "Right! Well, see you there then, [I]Mudblood.[/I]"  
  
Hermione stiffened for a moment, and then kept walking. But Ron wasn't quite as forgiving, and began pushing up his sleeves slowly.  
  
"Didn't I tell you?" he hissed. "Didn't I? Hope you're not afraid of the dark, Malfoy...'Coz I'm gonna put your lights out!"  
  
"Ron," said Hermione quietly, as she stopped in her tracks again. Ron stared at her, cold fury written across his features.  
  
Hermione turned abruptly and walked back to face Malfoy.  
  
"I'm sorry I hit you in our third year, Malfoy," she said in clipped tones, "And I'm sorry if I was rude to you before."  
  
Draco laughed out loud, "I don't need your apology, [I]Mudblood![/I]"  
  
By now Harry felt his insides boiling as well, and he could hear Ron's teeth grinding. Just what on earth was Hermione playing at?  
  
"Well, take it anyway. Excuse us." Hermione said, and she had to practically drag Ron away by his robes.  
  
"You got [I]lucky,[/I] Malfoy," Harry hissed, "You better hope she sticks to Ron like glue, or you're gonna see hard days ahead."  
  
"I'm shaking in my boots, Potty," Draco sneered, "She's got you lot well- whipped, doesn't she? Personally, I don't know how you stand the little trollop. Between her bossy attitude and the stench of her dirty blood...Tell me," Draco said leaning in close, "Do you think Weasel king has to hold his nose when they kiss?"  
  
"HARRY!" Hermione shouted.  
  
With supreme effort, Harry lowered his wand from Malfoy's chest, and put it back in his pocket.  
  
"If you can't say something nice, Malfoy," Harry whispered menacingly, "[I]Run and hide.[/I]"  
  
"[I]HARRY![/I]"  
  
And turning on his heel, Harry didn't wait for Malfoy to come up with some snooty retort.  
  
Harry followed Hermione into Potions to find Ron furiously attempting to light his cauldron. There was a mild conflagration as he finally ignited it, which made Harry take a jerky step backwards, for fear of singing his eyebrows.  
  
"Really, you two!" said Hermione, "Didn't you listen to the Sorting Hat at all, this year?"  
  
"Let me get this straight," said Ron through clenched teeth, "You think sucking up to Draco Malfoy is going to make one bit of difference?"  
  
"All [I]I[/I] know, Ron Weasley, is what I was told! And I think that after the Sorting Hat telling us two years in a row, and Dumbledore derailing the entire Sorting Ceremony to give us a lecture—"  
  
"It's simple, Hermione," said Ron, "He's not allowed to speak to you that way. [I]Period![/I]"  
  
"And what business is it of yours!" Hermione said, turning red, "It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything!" and Harry slowly began backing away, "What are you, my personal knight in shining armor? Well it's wearing thin, Ron, I don't mind telling you!"  
  
Ron's face turned white, making his ears look even redder, and Harry felt quite afraid he'd throw something in a minute.  
  
"If you don't mind me telling you..." hissed Snape silkily from the front of the classroom, "I'd like to begin class. But by all means, take your time."  
  
The three friends looked up abruptly to see that Snape had swooped into the classroom while Ron and Hermione were rowing, and Malfoy was seated at his typical station at the front of the classroom, smirking an oily smirk. Indeed the entire class was barely concealing grins at the duo, whose faces now resembled Hagrid's after a few pints.  
  
"You see," Snape said, "As entertaining as your sordid love lives are, I thought I might actually teach today. Five points. Each."  
  
Wordlessly, the trio plunked into their seats.  
  
"If you find yourselves sitting here," Snape said, "It either means you attained an E on your OWLS..." he looked over at Ron, "Or have found some other dubious means of attending. Either way, you are probably congratulating yourself at this very moment for being one of the few, the proud – the not-so-hopelessly-idiotic..."  
  
Harry scanned the room, and noted that there were, in fact, fewer faces. Gone were Crabbe, Goyle, a few other Slytherins, and also Neville and Dean Thomas.  
  
"However," Snape continued, eyeing Harry now, "Patting yourself on the back might be a bit – premature. As of this moment, the workload becomes increasingly difficult. If I find that you are unable to keep up," Snape said, his eyes flicking back to Ron, "I will have to ask you to transfer out of this class, and stop wasting our time here. And I certainly shouldn't need to tell you, Mr. Potter, to have your notebook out at the beginning of class."  
  
Harry sighed inwardly and took out his schoolbook with a barely disguised look of reproach towards the front of the classroom. He'd gotten used to Snape's unfairness by now – annoying though it was, it didn't do much to rouse his anger anymore.  
  
Snape waved his wand at the blackboard and a series of instructions appeared there – the list seemed never-ending.  
  
"You recall working on Forgetfulness Potions. Ah," Snape said with a smile at Ron, "That is, [I]some[/I] of you recall...I'm afraid you'll find a Draught of Remembrance far more difficult. And, should you be hoping to cheat on your exams, you'll find it quite useless. The complete Draught only allows for the permanent memorization of one fact, and as it takes precisely two hours to prepare, a month to brew, and another three hours of final preparation, I imagine you'll find your time better served by studying. Though some of you, I'm sure," he continued with a smirk, "Would find your time better served playing Quidditch."  
  
Ron's hand trembled as he squeezed his quill, and Harry nudged him with his knee.  
  
"You have two hours. Begin."  
  
At the end of class, when they had finally corked their flagons and handed them in (with Snape sneering with satisfaction at Ron's noxious concoction), and all the cauldrons were cleared and cooled, the trio was quite ready to steer themselves to the Great Hall for lunch. The class stood and began quickly shoving their notebooks into their schoolbags, but—  
  
"Mr. Potter – if I may?" Snape called.  
  
Rolling his eyes at Ron and Hermione, Harry turned around and walked back up to the front of the class.  
  
"Yes sir?" he said quietly. He was sure this was about Occlumency.  
  
"I'll need to set up a time for you to continue with your Remedial Potions." He had said it quite a bit louder than was necessary, and several of the class giggled quietly behind their hands, or nudged the person next to them. Harry felt his face burning, and eyed Snape's smug smile with loathing.  
  
Harry waited to reply until most of the people had left. Malfoy was lingering by the door, on the pretense of tying his laces.  
  
"Malfoy!" said Snape annoyedly, "I should think that even you had mastered the ancient art of tying your shoes."  
  
With a sneer at Potter, Malfoy swept out of the room.  
  
Harry was mildly surprised...he had never imagined that Malfoy got on Snape's nerves as well. Perhaps Snape was only so biased towards Malfoy because he was the Slytherin mascot, in a way, and Snape was head of Slytherin House...He had to hate Malfoy's father almost as much as he had hated James...and Crabbe and Goyle's as well – it was because of them, in part, that he was risking his neck every day spying. Maybe it was all just for show – and deep down he really found Malfoy just about as repellant as everyone else did.  
  
"And come to think of it," Harry thought to himself, "What did make you cross over to our side?"  
  
"Well, Mr. Potter," said Snape sitting abruptly, and picking up the first flagon, "It is to my great displeasure that the Headmaster has insisted that we continue our Occlumency lessons."  
  
As he spoke, he swished the flagon around in the light, smelled it, and then jotted down a grade and some comments on a piece of paper.  
  
"I have told him numerous times, you'll be glad to hear, that I had absolutely no intention of working with you ever again, and that I certainly didn't want you in my Potions class. He, being," he sneered, "Who he is, basically told me that I had no choice in the matter. And so we find ourselves in a quandary," he said, interrupting his grading to stare at Harry with deepest loathing, "Neither of us wants to be here. And yet here we are."  
  
"Old news," said Harry bruskely, "Tuesdays fine for you?"  
  
"What's this?" Snape said with veiled sarcasm, "No pained outburst? No desperately self-pitying rage against the cruel, cruel, world?"  
  
"Are you going to teach me, or not?"  
  
"Cheek, Potter. Tuesday is not fine. Monday."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine what?"  
  
"Fine, Professor," Harry forced himself to choke out.  
  
"Good. I will see you in my office after classes today."  
  
"Today!" Harry cried, woundedly. He had thought that at the very least they could start next Monday.  
  
"Ah," Snape said, smiling to himself, "Here we are then. I knew you couldn't hold off for long without mourning the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that would cause you to endure an extra hour of lessons. I was beginning to wonder whether you were ill." Snape stood up abruptly and gestured to the door.  
  
"I will be here. Whether you arrive or not is frankly, none of my business, and I will be able to inform the Headmaster with a clean conscience that I have held up my end of the bargain. Good day, Mr. Potter."  
  
Harry grabbed his schoolbooks and was about to storm out of the classroom, when something made him stop. Snape had mentioned the Headmaster...Harry recalled his words, and the shine of his eyes..."Try, Harry...that's all I'm asking." He realized now just how hard it had been for Hermione to treat Draco civilly. He took a deep breath.  
  
"I'll be here, Professor. Sorry to have troubled you."  
  
"Ah, very noble, Mr. Potter. Our young hero valiantly battles with the chimera of his own pride. It has the makings of a novel. Now leave."  
  
Burning with fury, Harry slammed the door behind him. 


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N: Hi everyone! New illustration alert. To view: www.snapfish.com, User: HPFanFicPicsyahoo.com, Pword: greatdivide. Next entry might be a little while...gotta do some research. Thanks for the great feedback, and enjoy!  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
Harry arrived in the Great Hall, quickly scanned for Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, and flung his bags onto the bench in a high dudgeon.  
  
"Oi!" shouted Ginny, "Mind where you chuck that, will you?"  
  
"Sorry," Harry grumbled, "Snape."  
  
"Ah," she said sympathetically, "Say no more. These two aren't much better."  
  
Hermione was wolfing down food across the table from them. Ron was angrily jabbing at his sausage and stealing ugly glances at her.  
  
"Err...you know, we have time, Hermione...or are you off to the library already?" Harry asked, eyeing the food rapidly disappearing from her plate.  
  
"You have time," she said, after a particularly painful swallow, "No lunch for me this year."  
  
"What d'you call this, then?" Ron said sarcastically.  
  
"See you in Defense," Hermione said coldly, staring at him much like Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Oi! Where are you off to then? Just going to storm off in a huff, like usual?"  
  
"Taking extra electives this year, aren't I? I'm going to Ancient Runes now, then NEWT level History of Magic" she said to Ron, as though this were painfully obvious. He turned back to his plate, scowling, and took a large bite of mashed potatoes.  
  
"McGonagall told me I'd have to give up my lunch period, but it's fine," Hermione explained, "I can eat between classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Professor Demwick told me I could eat in Muggle Studies, so that's alright."  
  
"Don't you think you might be pushing it a bit?" Harry asked, giving Ron a meaningful look. Unless she had changed greatly since third year, Hermione had a tendency to "overmanage" her time, and she got particularly stressed when she and Ron were rowing...  
  
"Don't worry about me," she said, "Ron – I thought we should go over the Potions lesson tonight."  
  
"But—" Ron stammered angrily.  
  
"Do you want to make Auror or not?" she snapped, "Seven o clock? Common room?"  
  
"But—!"  
  
"Fine. See you in Defense!" and she flounced out of the room.  
  
"She sure is...efficient," Ginny remarked, diplomatically.  
  
"Oh, perfect. Don't look now," Ron said, turning red, for Luna Lovegood was walking over, with Neville and Ernie MacMillan in tow.  
  
"Hello!" Luna said dreamily, "Sounds like you were fighting again. Everything okay?"  
  
"Fine," Ron said through his teeth.  
  
"You should buy her some flowers," Luna said thoughtfully, "A nice bouquet of honking daffodils, maybe."  
  
"Exactly why are you here?" Ron said, trying hard to sound as though he were merely curious and not thoroughly annoyed.  
  
"Well, we thought we might sit with you," Luna said, sitting down.  
  
"Yes," Ernie intoned, nodding seriously as he stood a bit taller, "Striving for a little inter-house unity. Sets an example for the first years, especially on the first day." Harry was strongly reminded of Percy.  
  
Ginny smirked. "If you're striving for unity, you'll notice we're all sitting?"  
  
Caught preaching, Ernie abruptly abdicated the floor and plunked himself down.  
  
"Hullo, Harry," Neville said smiling shyly.  
  
Harry smiled back, "Alright, Neville?" He was struck by the unusual bond they now shared, now that Neville was his Secret Keeper.  
  
He shrugged happily, "No more Potions! So it's the best first day I've ever had, I guess!"  
  
"Hear, hear!" Ron said darkly, "Wish I could say the same."  
  
Harry's expression darkened a bit, as he remembered his first day so far...Binns singling him out...he [I]had[/I] to bring up Sirius...  
  
"Oh, go on, Harry," Ginny said bumping his shoulder, "Couldn't've been that bad – it's only Snape, after all."  
  
"Hmm? Yeah. Git," but his heart wasn't in it. Ginny seemed about to ask him what was bothering him, but Ron gave her a warning look, and she dug into her peas instead.  
  
"So," Ernie said, putting his arm over Luna's shoulders to lean across the table conspiratorially, (at which Neville dropped his spoon, attempted to retrieve it, and knocked his pumpkin juice all over the table), "When are we starting up?"  
  
Harry had automatically lifted his plate like the rest of them, and was now creating a dam with his napkin. "Starting up?"  
  
"You know," Ernie said, flashing his eyebrows, and winking while nodding knowingly.  
  
"Ernie," said Ron, "Unless you're having a stroke, do tell us in plain English what you are talking about?"  
  
Seeming quite put out, Ernie dropped his airs, reached into his pocket, and slapped a gold Galleon on the table.  
  
Harry's breath caught in his chest – he hadn't even thought about the D.A. since he'd gotten there. He looked to Ron, and was horrified to find that Ron, and all the rest of them, were looking at him with carefully disguised eagerness.  
  
"Are...Are you [I]serious,[/I] Ernie?" Harry whispered quietly, "We're through."  
  
"Through?" he said, scowling.  
  
"[I]Yes![/I]" Harry said in a strong whisper, "Through! You weren't there, you don't know what it was like, alright? I'm not putting you or anyone else in danger again."  
  
"The Headmaster has confirmed for us," Ernie said, some of his swagger returning, "that we [I]are[/I] in danger."  
  
"We still need you, Harry," Ginny said.  
  
"No you don't!" Harry said, "We've got Lupin now! We're going to see him right after Divination!"  
  
"Well, even if we are!" Ginny said, "It's going to be pitiful! We haven't had a real Defense course since he was here three years ago, and he knows it! We'll be covering basics again, no doubt! We won't even cover Patronuses until seventh year!"  
  
Harry was horrified to see them all nodding sternly.  
  
"Ginny's got a point, Harry," Ron said, earning another scowl from Harry, "Besides, he can't even teach us all of the jinxes – they're not part of the curriculum. You remember third year - I don't exactly think Hinkypunks are what we need to be focusing on right now."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure," Luna said, arching her eyebrows, "The Ministry is conducting illegal cross-breeding experiments between Hinkypunks and Red Caps...They're going to amass an army and—"  
  
"[I]Anyway,[/I]" Harry interrupted, "Don't you think Lupin will have thought of this? I'm sure he's going to tell us exactly what to do." None of them looked very satisfied by this, so Harry went on, "And it doesn't matter anyway, because I'm not doing it! So if you still want to risk your necks, find somebody else. Because I just can't do it anymore!" and Harry realized with horror that a lump was returning to his throat, "I can't watch any more of my friends die because I did something stupid!"  
  
There was a pregnant pause at the table.  
  
"Oh!" Luna said suddenly, as though she'd just solved a particularly difficult crossword answer, "This is about Sirius, then?"  
  
The pause seemed to intensify. Ron and Ginny, knowing a violent outburst was imminent were subtly recoiling in their seats, while Neville had gone white.  
  
In a surprise move, however, Luna reached across the table, took Harry's hand, and turned it palm up. She placed her long fingers in his, and seemed to think for a moment before speaking.  
  
"Harry," she said softly, "It's time for you to stop now."  
  
Harry felt like his head was going to explode. "Stop what, exactly?" he hissed, gritting his jaw to stop the welling of his eyes, "Stop [I]caring[/I]? Stop trying to [I]protect[/I] the people I care about? Sirius is [I]GONE[/I] Luna – and while that might not mean anything to you—"  
  
"He's not gone, Harry," she said, and something about her voice made his anger dissipate slightly, or maybe it was the way she was resting her hand casually in his, "You remember...the voices behind the veil. He's still there, Harry. He's still Sirius. He's just somewhere else for the time being."  
  
Everyone tried not to look at each other as Luna continued to stare calmly at Harry, who was now mortified to have gotten so emotional. He wished somebody would just change the subject.  
  
"It's like the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, Harry," she said simply, and Harry heard Ron groan quietly, "It digs itself into the carcass of a heliopath each winter to hibernate, and then claws its way free in the Spring. You're missing Sirius, Harry, but instead of just letting it dig out, you're holding it in, and that's what's clawing in your rib cage. If you just let it out, it'll do a lot less damage to your insides."  
  
"Ew!" interjected Ron, and Ginny kicked him under the table. "Come on," Ron retorted, "That was revolting. Listen Harry, nothing's clawing at your insides. It was [I]rude[/I]" Ron said pointedly, "To...to bring it all up like that."  
  
But in spite of himself, Harry was actually feeling a little bit better. It rather irked him, to be honest – what right did she have to make him feel better about Sirius? "I'm [I]supposed[/I] to be miserable," Harry reminded himself sternly, but the way Luna gave him a knowing smile, and the way Neville had surreptitiously slipped his hand into his robes pocket and was smoothing a Droobles wrapper with his thumb made Harry feel a bit better.  
  
"We just wanted to know what to expect with the D.A. and all," Ernie continued, sounding quite human, "But if you think it's a bad idea, we'll...just have to think about it some more," he finished definitively, standing up, "Well, I think I better get back to the Hufflepuff table. You know, Prefect and all...got to make sure the first years make it to class."  
  
Indeed, everyone seemed to be standing and repacking their schoolbooks. Harry reflected that Ron and Hermione didn't need to make sure the new Gryffindors got to class, but he wasn't about to call Ernie MacMillan back over to tell him so. Just as Harry was standing, Katie Bell, Jack Sloper, and Andrew Kirke came hurrying over.  
  
"Ah, good!" said Katie, "Glad we finally cornered you!"  
  
"Errr," said Harry, "If you're wondering about Team Captain, I—"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Katie said, waving her hand dismissively, "It's you. We just wanted to know when practice was."  
  
"Well, I don't know if I—"  
  
"Harry – it's you," Ron said smiling, and Sloper and Kirke nodded eagerly, "No question."  
  
"Only question is," Ginny said, elbowing him, "Am I still on the team?"  
  
"Of course," Harry said, smiling.  
  
"Us too?" Jack said, as he and Andrew muscled forward. Harry paused awkwardly. Ginny was a replacement player last year and he had just promised her she could return, without even seeing her fly...now he would be forced to take Sloper and Kirke, just to be fair. Katie was giving him a warning look, but he smiled, and said, "Of course. I'll...uh, talk to Madame Hooch about booking the Quidditch field, and I'll get a slip signed from McGonagall in Transfiguration tomorrow. When [I]are[/I] Quidditch tryouts anyway?" Harry asked Katie.  
  
"Don't ask me," Katie said, clearly annoyed about Sloper and Kirke, "You're the Captain."  
  
"Heh...Right. Well, I'll post it on the common board, then!" Harry said, trying to sound official to combat the small burst of panic he felt, "Better get to class."  
  
"Neville," said Luna dreamily, "Walk me to class?"  
  
"Don't you know your way by now?" Ginny said dryly.  
  
"Afraid not. This place has a funny way of looping around itself..."  
  
"So do you," Ginny muttered under her breath, and Ron snorted as he shouldered his bookbag. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Harry and Ron arrived at their Divination course at the last minute, and flung themselves to the grassy turf. The entire classroom had been enchanted by Dumbledore to resemble the Forbidden Forest, at the behest of their teacher, Firenze. All of the Gryffindors were seated Indian-style in a semi-circle, some plucking idly at the grass, others leaning back gazing happily at the trees. Harry heard Lavender Brown chattering about the Weird Sisters' break-up to Parvati Patil behind him.  
  
"Welcome back," came a strong, quiet voice, as a chiseled palomino centaur stepped out from between two gnarled trees – Harry could only assume that this was the entrance to his "office," if you could call it that.  
  
"Ooooo...."  
  
Harry and Ron rolled their eyes at Parvati and Lavender, who were sitting behind them. They had seen Firenze last year, after all. And as impressive as he was, Harry couldn't help but feeling it was a bit awkward to "Oooh" and "ahhh" over him as though he were a dressage pony. Harry reflected idly that they were probably fawning over his naked torso, and found he was even more disturbed by [I]that[/I] particular notion.  
  
Firenze apparently felt the same way, because he scanned the class with a dubiously arched eyebrow, and charged silence fell instantly...More impressive than the simple fact that Firenze was a centaur was the way his slightest movement spoke of dignity and expectation.  
  
"Hopefully," Firenze stated calmly, "you have continued to hone your minds' eye during the summer, in hopes of discovering a talent for Seeing. While no amount of practice can 'create' the gift of Sight where it does not already exist, it is only through practice that our talents are ever truly realized. This, however, will probably make very little difference in a span of time so short as the time allotted to us...in fact, it will probably make very little difference in your time at Hogwarts at all," he said, "It is only my hope that you remain open to this journey, and to make you aware that whether or not we See does not prove what may, or may not Be."  
  
"Right. So long as we're clear on that." Ron muttered, as he elbowed Harry in the ribs. Harry stifled a chuckle, and tried to shush Ron at the same time – he didn't want to get Firenze's undivided attention – Last year, Dean Thomas had asked Firenze if the centaurs had been bred by Hagrid, and Harry did not want to be on the receiving end of a disdainful stare from those piercing blue eyes. The centaurs were a very proud race – in fact, Firenze had been permanently ejected from his herd for consenting to "serve" humans by teaching at Hogwarts. Harry often wondered just what had made Firenze agree...  
  
Firenze lowered one knobbly knee to the grass, and like an unsteady coffee table, slowly lowered himself to the ground with his students. Parvati and Lavender were quietly giggling to themselves again, and this time Harry was sure it had everything to do with the tautening of Firenze's biceps as he prepared to burn some sage.  
  
The smoke furled up to the top of the stone ceiling, and Firenze snapped his fingers. The dappled daylight that seemed to be shining from nowhere instantly faded from dusk, to twilight, to a deep midnight, and the ceiling above them was transported to a sparkling, star-strewn sky.  
  
"Ohhh!" exclaimed several of the Gryffindors, and Parvati actually couldn't restrain herself and clapped her hands together. Harry caught Firenze sneaking a small, exasperated sigh, before he collected himself and addressed the class again.  
  
"The veil between what is Seen and what Is is like the smoke you see," Firenze said, his hands weaving indiscernible patterns in the fragrant fumes, "It is unclear, fluid, and impermanent. We seldom can be sure whether what we see is the Past, the Present, or in fact the Future. The art we speak of is Divination," he said a bit more sternly, "Not Dictation. It is equally important that a seer [I]interpret[/I] what he Sees, not merely report what is Seen."  
  
When Trelawney was teaching Divination, Harry had considered these sort of misty, unclear contradictions as a sort of blanket disclaimer – "Pay no mind, this might or might not mean anything." But with Firenze, he sensed there was something sincere and important hidden in all the confusion...  
  
"Look to the stars."  
  
Harry looked up, and located Mars, and Venus, both shining brightly.  
  
Firenze paused quietly, gazing up at the sky. The class watched his face intently, wondering what secrets he was reading.  
  
"What do you see?" he asked the class at large, his eyes fixed on Mars.  
  
Parvati's hand shot up.  
  
"Yes, Miss Patil."  
  
"Well, you see, Mars is currently aligned with Venus which means..." but she stopped herself abruptly at Firenze's arched eyebrow. Harry recalled that when Parvati had tried to answer one of Firenze's questions last year, he'd dismissed her, Trelawney, and everything they'd learned up until that point as "human nonsense." It seemed Parvati wanted to start the year off right.  
  
"Well," she said, trying to adopt a mysterious air, "I am not sure, but I think it portends...unluckiness in love?..."  
  
Firenze seemed to be wrestling with his conscience for a moment, but managed to diplomatically reply, "I'm not so concerned about that...Anyone else?"  
  
The class was silent for a while. But Firenze turned his gaze directly to Harry. Harry had a feeling he knew what to say.  
  
"Mars is bright, tonight," he said with a grin. And Firenze smiled.  
  
"Yes," he said, "And Venus as well."  
  
"That's pretty much what [I]you[/I] said," huffed Lavender under her breath.  
  
"Who can tell me why that was a particularly good observation?" Firenze asked.  
  
To everyone's surprise, Neville raised his hand.  
  
"Yes? Mr. Longbottom."  
  
"Because...well, I think because he didn't try to interpret it yet?" Neville asked, more than answered, "He said what he Saw. And now it's up to us to interpret it...I guess?"  
  
Firenze smiled, "Very good. Five points each to Gryffindor."  
  
They spent the rest of the time first making observations about the night sky, and the smoke from the sage fire, then venturing possible interpretations. It seemed Parvati and Lavender both missed Professor Trelawney quite a bit, but Harry and Ron had never had so much fun in Divination – it was as though their minds were freed to wander, and wonder at the universe, rather than follow any strict set of logical rules. Partway through the lesson, Ron raised his hand.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Err – well, it's just something I never got really," he said blushing a bit, "Mars and Venus – are they really aligned?"  
  
Lavender scoffed from behind them, and Harry turned his head slightly, as though shushing someone at the cinema.  
  
"But err...aligned from what point of view? I mean, we're all sitting here on Earth right now, aren't we? I mean...if we were sitting on Jupiter, would they still be aligned? Or, if we were above them? Or under them? I mean," Ron continued, his excitement building as Firenze nodded, "Space is three- dimensional, right? Alignment means that it's a straight line...two dimensional."  
  
Firenze gave a broad smile, a rare occurrence, "Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley."  
  
"I think we will end there," he said, rising suddenly and dramatically to all four of his feet, "To remind us all that what we See, and moreover, what we Divine, is always dependent on our perspective."  
  
"[I]Wicked![/I]" said Ron, as they walked to Defense.  
  
"Awesome," nodded Dean.  
  
Harry grinned as well, but Mars was nagging at the back of his mind...  
  
"We've got Defense next!" Neville piped up happily, "We'll see Lupin!"  
  
"Oh wait," Ron said mopily, "Not yet anyway...isn't he going to miss the first day of classes?"  
  
"If it's Snape, I'm skivving off," Harry said determinedly, "If I have to have him for four class periods today, I'll go stark raving mad. Poke your head in, Ron."  
  
"No way!" Ron said, "Why should I be the one to poke my head in! What if it is him?"  
  
"I'll go, I guess," Neville said mopily, "I can't skive off anyway, I need to practice."  
  
Harry was reminded of Neville's devoted study during their D.A. meetings last year, and reminding himself that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were at large, gave Ron a half-hearted shrug.  
  
"Maybe we should go."  
  
Ron heaved a sigh, "Yeeeeeeh, alright. But I'm sitting in the back."  
  
But when they entered the classroom, there was no sign of Snape or Lupin... 


	10. Chapter Ten

Instead, a large full-length mirror stood propped against Lupin's desk. Harry was strongly reminded of the Mirror of Erised, but it couldn't be – the frame was entirely different, and it was the wrong size, being somewhat smaller than the Mirror of Erised, and quite a bit shabbier.  
  
The rest of the class, not sure what was going to happen or who would be teaching, were sitting quietly at their desks, silently praying that Snape was not going to burst out of the office door.  
  
"I guess he's not here yet?" Ron asked nervously.  
  
Hermione stepped into the room, busily pushing some hair behind her ear, and tried to walk around them several times before she stuck her hip out and asked, "Are you lot planning to sit down?"  
  
"We were just trying to figure..." Ron trailed off, staring at the mirror.  
  
"Maybe...maybe the mirror is teaching class?" Neville ventured timidly. Several students chuckled.  
  
"Wouldn't that be one of those magical objects where you can't see its brain?" Harry asked nervously.  
  
"Excellent point, Mr. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor," came Lupin's cheerful voice. Suddenly, the reflection in the mirror fogged over – through the misted surface, Harry could see the shapes and colors slowly shifting, and the emergence of a gentle, flickering glow...suddenly, the fog began to clear, and Remus Lupin was standing in the mirror.  
  
"I believe one of your previous professors put it best..." he grinned, "Constant vigilance!"  
  
Indeed, it was Lupin standing in the mirror, and Harry could dimly make out the ugly carpeting in the study at Grimmauld place, lit by several candles on the armoire shelves.  
  
"Lupin!" Harry exclaimed delightedly.  
  
Lupin frowned a bit.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" he asked, sounding half amused and half offended. A few of the class tittered.  
  
"Err...just...hello, that's all," Harry said, confusedly.  
  
"Sorry we're late, Professor!" Hermione added courteously. She gave Harry a meaningful look, and Harry stared back bewildered.  
  
"Not at all, Miss Granger. Please take your seats everyone!" Lupin said, sounding more like himself. But Harry hesitated...why was Lupin snubbing him in front of everyone? But Hermione took his arm and dragged him to a seat next to Ron and Neville.  
  
"Well! Excellent to see you all again – in a manner of speaking at least. I think for our first lesson, we'll be starting with—yes, Miss Brown?"  
  
Lavender lowered her hand dubiously, "Err – will you be teaching us through this mirror for the entire year?"  
  
"No, not at all," Lupin said with a bracing smile, "only some of the lessons."  
  
"Lessons where there's a full moon?" she asked pointedly. Harry turned in his seat to glare at her, but she seemed highly unapologetic.  
  
Lupin sighed from his place in the mirror.  
  
"I thought we might run into this. Well, werewolves [I]are[/I] on your syllabus for sixth year, so we might as well get it out of the way today."  
  
He took a deep breath, and paused for a moment, choosing his words. "You all probably know by now that I am, in fact, a werewolf." Harry saw Neville fidget slightly with his pencil. "I got the bite when I was very young, and I've been living with the condition my entire life."  
  
By now, Lavender looked quite abashed.  
  
"I imagine that because of this, you all have some level of uncertainty about my returning here to teach, particularly after having withheld this information from you several years ago—"  
  
"Well, that's true!" Lavender said, and she turned to plea her case to Harry and Ron, who were scowling at her, "I mean, he could've killed us! Not...that he'd [I]want[/I] to," she added, eyeing Lupin apologetically, "But he can't help it! It's in a werewolf's nature!"  
  
"Yes, Miss Brown, that is very true, and therefore, some of your fears are valid. As you'll note, however, I have taken many precautions to ensure that I am of absolutely no danger to you. Who can name the first one?"  
  
Hermione's hand shot into the air.  
  
"Yes," he smiled, "Miss Granger?"  
  
"Well," she said, sounding very pleased with herself, "The most obvious one, of course, is that you've used a two-way mirror to ensure that you won't actually be in the classroom during the full moon. But you've also –"  
  
"Ah! Give someone else a chance," Lupin smiled, "Miss Brown – what do you notice?"  
  
She "ummed" and "erred" for a minute, until Lupin prompted, "Take a look out the window."  
  
She looked at the beautiful September afternoon. "Oh! It's not even dark yet!"  
  
"That's right!" Lupin said, "And as you'll note, the room I am in is completely dark. I have ensured that every window in this room is magically sealed, so that should I ever lose track of time, or need to see you in the evening, I will be able to hold office hours via the mirror. Very good! Five points to both of you. Now, if you could all squish your desks to the center of the room, please? I want to be sure I can see you all."  
  
There was a scrape of desks as they formed two rows down the center of the classroom.  
  
"Good, then," Lupin continued, "You should also be aware that while there is no cure for LRS, or 'Lupine Retroviral Syndrome,' as it has come to be known, there is a powerful draught that Professor Snape prepares for me, which ensures that [I]if[/I] I do indeed transform into a werewolf, I keep my mind – rather than rampaging and attacking the innocent, I simply curl up and wait for the full moon to pass."  
  
"Cool!" breathed Dean.  
  
"And it's name?" Lupin asked, raising his eyebrow.  
  
Neville's hand shot up.  
  
"Ah! Neville?"  
  
"Wolfsbane potion!"  
  
"Very good. Five points!"  
  
Harry grinned and chucked Neville on the arm. He'd always been good at Herbology...  
  
"I am also in the habit," he continued, "of taking the potion several days prior to the full moon, and continuing for several days afterward. Those of you who were good in Astronomy could tell me that the full moon was actually yesterday. Now, why do you think I do that? Anyone?"  
  
Hermione's hand shot into the air.  
  
"Anyone else?" Lupin smirked, and there were chuckles in the classroom again, "Very well then, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Well, for one thing, the effects of the potion are cumulative...meaning that it builds up in your bloodstream. Similarly, the effects of LRS are also felt during the days approaching and after the full moon – you can't fully transform, of course," she hastened to add.  
  
"No, but it is awfully unpleasant," Lupin said with a wry smile, "and it tends to make me a bit cranky." The class chuckled. Even Lavender was beginning to relax.  
  
"But sir, how did you get the job?" Dean asked, "I mean – aren't there laws and all?"  
  
"Indeed there are, Mr. Thomas," Lupin said, "The Werewolf Registration Act was passed by Newton Scamander in 1947 – you'll recognize his name from your Fantastic Beasts textbook. Your previous Professor, Dolores Umbridge –"  
  
But the utterance of her name caused several snorts of indignation, muffled curses, and dire threats...  
  
"Yes," Lupin smiled, "She's just about as popular with me. You see, in addition to interfering at Hogwarts, Miss Umbridge also enjoys needlework, and passing blatantly discriminatory legislation which prevents werewolves and other 'dangerous non-humans' like myself from getting work."  
  
"But werewolves aren't non-human!" protested Dean, and several others nodded.  
  
"This, unfortunately, has been the subject of much debate," Lupin said, shaking his head, "In fact, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is divided into two divisions – the Beast and the Being Division. And for years, the Ministry of Magic has been unable to place certain magical...well, entities, including werewolves, centaurs, and the like. But I think Hagrid is planning to discuss that somewhat," Lupin said smiling, "and I don't think I ought to upstage him. Suffice it to say, you know where I stand on the issue."  
  
The lesson went smoothly from there, until the end of class.  
  
"Now if you don't mind, please, take one each from that stack of scrolls on the desk – Madame Pince was kind enough to Copyquill them for me – it's the introduction to [I]'Hairy Snout, Human Heart.'[/I] And while it is at times," he smirked, "[I]obnoxiously[I/] sentimental, it is, in fact, one of the best arguments for placing werewolves in the 'Being' division available."  
  
He looked down at his feet for a moment, and the class waited curiously to be dismissed.  
  
"And..." he continued in a muffled voice, "I'd like a foot long essay on how to recognize and kill a werewolf by next class. Right then, off you go!"  
  
There was a stunned silence in the room, followed by Ron's sputtering.  
  
"B-but...Why?...No!" Ron said indignantly.  
  
"Yeah!" Dean added, "It's not like we're going to need it! We're perfectly safe!"  
  
"Yes!" Lupin snarled, "You [I]do[/I] need it, Mr. Thomas!"  
  
The entire class sat up straighter. Lupin rubbed his eyes, and then ran a hand over his straggly hair. Harry noticed the circles under his eyes were even darker than usual. Finally, he smiled gently.  
  
"I didn't mean to snap at you, Mr. Thomas. But you see, that's exactly the point – a werewolf never means to do the things he does when he's in wolf form. And despite every precaution I may take, I never know what unpreventable circumstances might lead me to transform. I learned that lesson the hard way," he added, more to himself. Harry recalled their third year, where Lupin had almost killed them all...  
  
"Besides," he said, with false cheeriness back in his voice, "I'm not the only one of us running around, am I? Not if there's an entire Registry? And what did Professor Moody always tell you?"  
  
"Constant vigilance," the class replied, but they were clearly upset by their essay topic.  
  
"Right then! Class dismissed," Lupin said, waving them to the door. "Oh, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss – oh, [I]you[I] lot," he said with a grin, "Hang out for a moment, would you?"  
  
Everyone else filed out of the room, while Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed behind. Neville lingered at the door.  
  
"Shall I save you a spot at dinner?" he asked.  
  
"Err...no, sorry," Harry said, making eye contact with Lupin, "This'll probably take a while. Sit with Ginny and Luna. We'll try to catch you."  
  
"What's going on?" Ron asked.  
  
"Well," Lupin said with a smile, "I was just wondering when the D.A. was starting up again."  
  
There was an awkward pause as Ron and Hermione shared a squirming glance.  
  
"It's...not." Harry said through gritted teeth.  
  
"Harry, it's perfectly understandable if you don't want to lead the D.A. anymore," Lupin said, "But I think that it's absolutely necessary that all the Hogwarts students that feel the need be able to defend themselves. I'm going to have my hands full with the first and second years alone, and the third and fourth are hopelessly behind. Only the D.A. members are going to be able to hold their own, and that's mainly Gryffindors. Most of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are still rather hopeless, and all Slytherin knows how to do is jinx each other."  
  
Harry's eyes widened, "You want the D.A. to train the entire school...make up for years of missed work...it just can't be done!"  
  
"Well, it's not as bad as all that," Hermione added helpfully, "I mean, Lupin [I]is[/I] taking the actual classes...it's more just to help everyone with their spellwork –"  
  
"I know what it's for, Hermione," Harry said heatedly, "It's for defending ourselves from Lord Voldemort –" She winced uncomfortably, "-and for getting ourselves killed in the process. I won't have it."  
  
"You mean you won't do it," Lupin said gravely, "But whether or not the D.A. reforms isn't entirely up to you, Harry. It seems you're the only person who doesn't want to reform."  
  
"How can you say that?!" Harry blew up at Lupin, "I thought at least you, of all people...what about keeping my head down and being a normal student? What happened to 'Just play Quidditch,' Harry, 'Have fun at school, Harry!' And why were you so...snarky at the start of class?"  
  
Lupin smiled, and looked at his feet. Hermione and Ron stifled a laugh.  
  
"What's so funny?" Harry asked with a nasty  
  
"Snarky?" asked Ron.  
  
"It's because he's a Professor again, Harry," explained Hermione, "You can't treat him like family in front of the whole class. As far as they know, you're just a favorite pupil of his, and it's probably better if it stays that way."  
  
"Hermione's right, Harry," Lupin said, "Besides, we already know that Voldemort can use our personal relationships against us. Better to keep things professional in the classroom."  
  
"Err, speaking of which," Ron said, looking a bit nervous, "What is going on with...with him. Does the Order know anything about it?"  
  
Lupin screwed up his face. "Well...I really can't tell you, Ron, I'm sorry. We've got our ears to the ground, suffice it to say. But let me put it this way – why do you think your house was attacked?"  
  
"Well, because of Harry," Ron said, "I mean, I'm his best friend."  
  
"Yes, yes, but what would Voldemort stand to gain?" Lupin asked, "Once you were dead?"  
  
"Well, I'd be miserable for one," Harry added.  
  
"Yes, Harry, but you were already miserable. Well, that is," Lupin said apologetically, "Voldemort had already used Sirius to wage psychological warfare on you. No, the attack on the Weasley home didn't fit into Voldemort's larger plans, really – it wouldn't help him on his road to domination...it wouldn't lend him any extra power. It's the kind of pointless terror-mongering he usually leaves to his minions to carry out. Yet he himself ordered this attack...Why?"  
  
"Because I ruined his plans," Harry said, "I destroyed the prophecy, and I spoiled his return." Harry realized uncomfortably that he still hadn't told his friends about the prophecy. He wondered if Lupin knew?  
  
"Exactly, Harry," Lupin continued, "It was not an act of calculation but of anger, of aggression...Kingsley was telling me that the Muggles call it, 'a crime of passion.' And that is very unlike Lord Voldemort's typical modus opperandi."  
  
"You still haven't told us what he's up to [I]now[/I]" Hermione said.  
  
Lupin sighed, "And I really can't. Partly because I can't reveal what we know, and partly because we don't know terribly much. Now that he knows he may be being watched, he's been particularly cautious with his communications...to the normal eye, it would even seem neurotic – one Death Eater seldom knows what the rest are up to. I will say this though – Voldemort is not about to give us time to catch our breath. No, now that the world has been alerted to his return, they're wasting no time. You saw the Prophet today, I assume?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said glumly, the same photos of the escaped Death Eaters flickering in his memory again – only this time, it was from [I]today's[/I] front page.  
  
"Voldemort has no personal attachments – the only thing he craves is power, and unless he had some plan in mind requiring his Death Eaters, he wouldn't bother freeing them from Azkaban. It seems the Dementors are falling deeper and deeper into his control. Fudge must be having a fit," Lupin worried, "Harry – the students have got to learn to defend themselves, and they've got to learn Patronuses, as soon as possible."  
  
Harry heaved a sigh. "Alright, I'll do it."  
  
Lupin sighed as well, and looked at Harry with a careworn expression. "We all know how hard this all is on you, Harry. If there were a better way –"  
  
"Harry!" Hermione gasped, "Don't you have Occlumency?"  
  
Harry felt his stomach fall, and cursed, checking his wristwatch. "I'm already late!"  
  
"We'll schedule it," Ron said, "Go ahead!"  
  
"Okay – but remember, it can't conflict with Occlumency...or Quidditch practice!"  
  
"Harry...you haven't set the practice times yet – we haven't even had tryouts yet."  
  
"Right...right," Harry said, panicking slightly, "So...Occlumency...and then, Pr'fessor McGonagall...for Quidditch...then Homework – Oh, food..."  
  
"Just go!" Hermione said, and Harry turned and ran out the door, his friends eyeing each other worriedly. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Harry's footsteps echoed against the walls yet again as he ran pell-mell for Snape's dungeon classroom. He passed few people in the halls – most of them hurrying off to the Great Hall for dinner – he could hear the dull roar as he ran past. He was just running up to Snape's office when Peeves swooped by.  
  
"Wee Potty Potter! In trouble again, eh?"  
  
"Hello to you, too, Peeves," Harry muttered through gritted teeth.  
  
"[I]POTTER![/I]" rang Snape's voice.  
  
"OOoooooo...that doesn't sound very pleasant, does it?" Peeves said, swooping through Harry's head and ruffling his hair even more as he disappeared down the hallway. "Play nice, wee Potty Potter!"  
  
Harry sighed, feeling his shoulders sink. Snape was going to go even harder on him, now. He pushed open the dungeon door, and found Snape sitting at his desk, still grading papers.  
  
"Are you currently in possession of a watch, Mr. Potter?"  
  
"Yes. Err, no," Harry said. He still hadn't replaced his stupid wristwatch...  
  
"I see," Snape said, "The subject of Time obviously confuses you, so I will speak slowly and clearly. While your time is not of any particular value to me, my own certainly is. And you seem to have quite the propensity for wasting it."  
  
Harry took a deep breath. Snape was trying to rile him – it would make it all the easier to break into his mind.  
  
"Deeeep breaths," Harry thought to himself, "Ten...nine..."  
  
"So, where were you? Ah, let me guess. Chatting with your fan club and [I]Professor[/I] Lupin," he sneered.  
  
"Eight...seven...six..."  
  
"Or his reflection, rather. It seems Dumbledore is yet again lowering standards..."  
  
"[I]Five....four...[/I]"  
  
"Well I think you'll find, Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, a sordid smile playing on his twisted lips, "that my standards have not lessened in the slightest...I am going to be considerably more demanding on you."  
  
"Bring it on," Harry thought to himself. Snape's eyebrow arched.  
  
"Very well then," he said, "into my office."  
  
Harry followed Snape as he swooped into his office, wishing very dearly he could step on his billowing robes, just to watch him fall flat on his face.  
  
Snape opened a cupboard and took out Dumbledore's Pensieve, and placing the tip of his wand at his temple, began extracting silvery, flossy memories from his mind, and placing them into the sieve to swirl...Harry noted he spent considerably more time doing this than he had last year. He then took the full Pensieve, and shut it into the cupboard.  
  
Snape turned the key in the lock, and abruptly turned to glare at Harry over his shoulder.  
  
"I trust," he said with a voice of deadliest quiet, "The contents of that sieve will be safe from prying eyes this year?"  
  
Harry nodded mutely. Truth be told, he wished he'd never looked at Snape's memories – then he'd never know what a prat his Dad had been...how bullying and immature Sirius had been...  
  
Sirius...  
  
"[I]LEGLIMENS![/I]" cried Snape, whipping his wand at Harry without warning.  
  
The dementors were swirling around Harry, Sirius lying unconscious at his feet...  
  
Sirius was laughing with James and Lily in their wedding photo...holding their hands up as though ducking from the rain – Harry's tears were spattering on the glossy finish...  
  
Sirius was falling backwards in a graceful arc –  
  
"[I]GAAAAHHHHH!!![/I]"  
  
Snape was suddenly spun backwards over his desk, and landed lopsided in his chair. Harry's face was streaked with tears, but he barely noticed as he advanced upon Snape, his wand still held out in front of him, spewing sparks...  
  
"[I]Expelliarmus![/I]" shouted Snape, and Harry heard the fear in his voice, even as his wand went flying across the room.  
  
Harry shook his head, trying to clear the red haze that had taken him over. Snape breathed heavily, trying to regain his composure (and his footing).  
  
"Well," Snape said, rearranging his robes, "That was certainly effective. I suppose that was unintentional?"  
  
"Yes," Harry choked out through his tears, "Sorry."  
  
"Sorry what?"  
  
"Sir," Harry said, his entire body trembling.  
  
"Well, I believe it is safe to say that your lack of self-control has not far improved since last we met. As for your memories of Sirius," Snape said, looking down his nose at Harry, "You will have to control yourself, Potter. There is no point in wasting tears over Sirius Black. What's dead is dead."  
  
Harry's blood was pounding through his temples, and there was a ringing in his ears.  
  
"And as for your overwhelming, misguided guilt complex," Snape said, his voice gliding like silk through water, "It is both inaccurate and pathetically arrogant. You blame yourself because you couldn't save him – but then of course, your real flaw (then as it is always), is in assuming that it was your responsibility to save him in the first place. After all, that's what the [I]hero[/I] does, isn't it?"  
  
Harry's wand began to flare, but Snape didn't notice. By now he was leaning over his desk, and saliva flecked his lips as he spat his spite at Harry.  
  
"Barges in, wand drawn, Gryffindor colors flapping in the breeze...we can all rest easy – [I]Harry Potter[/I] and his [I]posse[/I] have arrived...Turns out it was you who needed saving, wasn't it? But rest assured, Potter, Sirius Black was the undoing of Sirius Black. You just made a dangerous and arrogant error in judgement."  
  
"Are you saying that Sirius is to blame?" Harry asked, his green eyes blazing.  
  
"Oh, don't worry," Snape hissed quietly, "You can still share the blame if you like."  
  
"[I]LEGLIMENS![/I]"  
  
The word ripped from Harry's mouth before he even had time to contemplate what he was doing.  
  
A lanky teenage boy with stringy black hair was being slapped in the face by a tall, dark man, as his mother cowered in the corner, her tears mingling with the blood oozing from her cheek.  
  
Peter Pettigrew was tremblingly telling Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange that he had just set fire to the Weasley house, and Harry felt a horrible mix of panic and guilt wrench his midsection...Bellatrix eyed Pettigrew's wringing hands with disgust...  
  
Voldemort's burning red eyes were looking down with approval. "Welcome to the fold..." he hissed, and pointed his wand at Snape's forearm...Harry felt the blinding pain and smelled the searing flesh as the Dark Mark was forever scored onto his skin—  
  
There was a dull thud, and stars swam in front of Harry's eyes. He had to shake his head several times before he realized he was sitting on Snape's office floor, a collection of books and broken potion bottles around him.  
  
"[I]Reparo[/I]" Snape muttered, and the potion bottles lept up, empty, and reformed themselves, and the shelves behind him magically repaired themselves.  
  
Harry stood woozily up, his robes damp with Potion. He touched them gingerly. "Am I?..."  
  
"Only Antitodes, Mr. Potter, I daresay you'll live," Snape said wearily. He sat down at his desk, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
Harry stood there awkwardly for a moment. He hadn't meant to do it – he hadn't wanted to do it. And he had the same terrible feeling writhing in his stomach he had the last time he saw Snape's memories. But Snape seemed to be reacting very differently this time.  
  
Finally Snape stood up, and crossed to the locked cupboard. He took out the Pensieve, and again raised his wand to his temple, extracting more, and more and more memories from his head and placing them in the Pensieve. Finally, he took it back to the cupboard and locked it again.  
  
"Clear your mind." Snape said robotically, "One...two...three..."  
  
Harry tried to do as he was told, but all he could feel was deep, deep sorrow...  
  
"[I]Leglimens![/I]"  
  
Harry was walking down the corridor to the Department of Mysteries...  
  
Then, walking down a corridor at Hogwarts...someone was shouting...someone he knew...he turned the corner and...  
  
Cho was approaching him under the mistletoe...she was far too close...  
  
But now Snape's office was swimming into view...he could see both Snape and Cho, as though two films were being projected one on top of the other.  
  
"[I]Finite incantatem![/I]" Harry shouted, and the images stopped abruptly. He felt weak in the knees, his head was pounding, and his whole body was stiff and sore, but he had finally done it.  
  
Snape said nothing, which Harry knew to mean that he could find nothing to complain about.  
  
"You may go," Snape said, "You are to clear your mind every night. You should know by now how important it is."  
  
Snape was avoiding his eye, as though he were far too busy to pay attention, but Harry felt he was making quite a production out of stacking the parchment on his desk. Hermione's stern glance played through his head.  
  
"Sir...I—"  
  
"You may [I]go,[/I] Potter!" shouted Snape, his eyes narrowed with hatred, and in the split second of eye contact, Harry heard Snape's voice in his mind:  
  
"[I]Even after you're dead...[/I]"  
  
And in his mind's eye, Harry saw his father smiling smugly, and felt a wave of humiliation and hatred.  
  
Feeling two inches tall, Harry closed the door behind him.  
  
After ducking into the Great Hall five minutes before the food was magically cleared, getting McGonagall's signature to book the Quidditch pitch, and narrowly avoiding a barrage of Dungbombs from Peeves, Harry was more than happy to be approaching the Fat Lady.  
  
"Password?" she asked.  
  
Harry's mind went blank.  
  
"Oh, go on," he said wearily, "Don't you know me by now?"  
  
"No password, no entry," she said, smiling wryly, "Rules are rules."  
  
"I-i-i-i-it's N..n..."  
  
Harry turned to see Arthur Aaronson trembling at his shoulder.  
  
"N-n-n—"  
  
"Arthur," Harry said exhaustedly, "Despite what you've probably heard, I am not about to murder you or hex you have a fainting spell or start speaking in snake language or even look at you crosswise. Do you know the password?"  
  
"[I]Nebulus![/I]" he squeaked, and the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open.  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way. Arthur actually managed to smile back.  
  
"You're w-welcome!"  
  
Harry thought he heard a slight snigger from somewhere behind him. He wheeled around and checked the corridor, but didn't see anyone.  
  
"Get out of it, Peeves!" he shouted, and waited for a response, but there was none. Shrugging it off, he followed Arthur Aaronson into the Gryffindor common room.  
  
A roaring fire was blazing merrily, and Dean Thomas was shoving a marshmallow onto a toasting fork, to the amazement of a few first-years.  
  
"It's a kind of Muggle sweet..." he was saying, "See, you let it catch fire, and then you eat the outside – that's the best way, at least...my best mate Seamus, he can't get enough of these thing..."  
  
Ron was slouched on the couch, his feet up on the table and his head lolling backwards. Hermione was sitting across from him, her notebook open in her lap.  
  
"[I]And?....[/I]" she said sternly.  
  
"Hemlock...and....Ah, Hermione, my brain is fried, can't we do this later?"  
  
"When, later?" Hermione snapped, "You have to write your essay later! And if you think – hello, Harry – and if you think I'm doing it for you –"  
  
"Harry!" Ron said, clearly overjoyed to have a reason to leave off studying, "How'd it go?"  
  
Harry told them everything that had happened during his Occlumency lesson, avoiding the part where he'd seen Snape's memories.  
  
"Rotten, slimy git," Ron said sympathetically, "So when's Quidditch?"  
  
"Oh," Harry said distractedly, "I'd better post it...I booked the pitch for Saturday...it's early in the morning though, Katie's not going to be pleased. Oh bugger, here she comes."  
  
"Hello, Harry!" she said briskly, "Did you talk to McGonagall about the—"  
  
"Yes," Harry said, "We've got it this Saturday from eight to eleven."  
  
"Eight in the morning on a Saturday!" she said, arching her eyebrow, "I suppose Slytherin got to it first?"  
  
"Here's an idea," Ron said, "Why don't [I]you[/I] be Quidditch captain, since you haven't got a hundred other things to do?"  
  
"Don't think it hadn't occurred to me," Katie said delicately. There was an uncomfortable pause.  
  
"Look, Harry," she said a little more warmly, "The whole team loves you. I mean, I do too – you're great. It's just that...well, it's my last year, and I really want to take the Cup...you know?"  
  
"I know," Harry said, "I know. Don't worry...we'll get somebody great this Saturday."  
  
"Like Sloper and Kirke?" she said, wincing.  
  
"No," Harry said, "Like Ginny Weasley. Besides, Sloper and Kirke can be trained up. All we need is one more Chaser, and we're set. We've got you and Ginny, Ron...me," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"We're a cinch," Ron said, grinning and ruffling his hair.  
  
"Only if you've practiced over the summer," Katie said, playfully kicking his shin.  
  
"Right," Harry said, taking out a quill and parchment, "I'll just write it down and post it on the board..."  
  
When he walked over to the board, he was hard-pressed to find room – already the Gobstones club, Charms club, scribbled Lost and Found notes, and start-of-term notices had cluttered up the space. Harry moved some things around, and finally managed to tack the parchment on the very bottom – "Quidditch Tryouts, Saturday, 8-11. Need One Chaser, 2nd Year or Above."  
  
Just as he was about to walk away though, something pink at the bottom right caught his eye.  
  
"Weasley Wizarding Wheezes – Under Absolutely No Circumstances Should You Contact Us By Owl Order!"  
  
Harry smiled, and continued to read the fliers. Arthur Aaronson had apparently lost his marbles...Harry reflected that someone had probably posted that as a joke. Hermione had re-posted her old S.P.E.W. manifesto, but it had already been partially buried by the Gobstones club.  
  
Then noticed something else...it was tacked onto the board just next to the Weasley's flier, only about the size of an index card...and he recognized Hermione's neat print on it...  
  
"D.A. General Interest Meeting. See Hermione."  
  
Harry walked back over the couch...he felt a funny sensation of distance from the D.A. this year...the whole thing felt...off.  
  
"I see you posted a flier," Harry said.  
  
"Well, I never really expect anyone to join," Hermione said sadly, "It is such a shame. You would think that we could at least have the slightest respect for the people that wash our dirty laundry, put food on our table—"  
  
"I meant about the D.A." Harry said.  
  
"Oh," she said, "Right. Well, I figured we could use some new members, but I also wanted to make sure we knew who they were...this way they have to come to us first. Lupin thought it was a good idea."  
  
"So when's the meeting?" Harry asked, feeling oddly out of the loop.  
  
"There is none," she said waving her hand dismissively, "We'll just decide whether they're on the level or not, and then give them a coin...then they can start coming to regular meetings. Oh, I need a Quidditch practice schedule from you – I've already got one from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw...Slytherin wouldn't give me theirs," she said, rolling her eyes, "Had to get it from Madame Hooch."  
  
"Well, of course not!" Ron said, "Why would you even need it? I mean, it's not like any Slytherins are going to join."  
  
"You never know!" Hermione said defensively, "At any rate, I think we should stay open to the possibility! You know, the Sorting Hat—"  
  
"Alright, alright," Ron said, "I'm sorry I said anything."  
  
"It feels wrong," Harry said flat out, "I mean, to have...a flier..."  
  
"I know what you mean," Hermione said thoughtfully, "But we do want new members...and I did leave it quite vague."  
  
"Well, there's no real need to hide anymore, is there?" Ron asked, "I mean, Umbridge is gone, isn't she?"  
  
"Ron, this is still serious business," Hermione said, "V..."  
  
She glanced around the common room, and leaned in closer.  
  
"You Know Who is still out there...and we still need to keep a low profile – last year, it was only Umbridge who managed to get a hold of the list. Could you imagine if Lord Voldemort had gotten hold of it?"  
  
"Well, it's not like he's just going to pop into Hogwarts, snatch it out of our hands, and run off into the night," Ron said uncomfortably, "Do you really think he'd be able to find out somehow?"  
  
They both suddenly looked at Harry, and looked away. There was an awkward pause.  
  
"Well, we never thought Umbridge would get the list either. The point is," Hermione said, "We should keep a low profile regardless. Besides, I don't think we want everyone knowing about the Room of Requirement, anyway."  
  
"Uhm—"  
  
They all wheeled around, startled to find Broderick Johnson, Angelina's kid brother, standing behind the couch, along with Arthur Aaronson.  
  
"We just...saw the notice," Broderick continued uncertainly, "For the D.A...And...we wanted to see you, Hermione."  
  
The trio looked at each other, surprisedly.  
  
"Do you...you do know what it is, right?" Harry asked.  
  
"My older sister," Broderick said, "She told me all about it, and said I had to join if you were doing it again. So, I told Arthur and Etta about it."  
  
"Etta?" Hermione asked with a slight note of panic, "As in, Julietta Edgecombe?"  
  
Harry and Ron shared a quick glance.  
  
"She's not...it's okay, she's alright," Broderick said hurriedly, looking very uncomfortable indeed, "I mean...it's not like Umbridge is still here or anything...she just heard us talking about it and said she might be interested."  
  
This was met with a long silence in which Harry tried to guess what Ron and Hermione were thinking. It seemed they were also trying to gauge his opinion.  
  
"So...er...can we...come to the meeting?"  
  
"There is no meeting," Hermione said, "We'll be in touch."  
  
"Oh," Broderick said, obviously disappointed, "Okay. Well...sorry to have wasted your time."  
  
And he strode off, clearly a bit annoyed, with Arthur trailing anxiously behind him.  
  
"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked tentatively.  
  
"Broderick's alright," Hermione said, "But I can't believe he'd say all this where Etta could hear him..."  
  
"Well, maybe he's right," Ron said, "I mean, Marietta's memory was wiped, right? All she remembers is the initial meeting?...maybe this girl...the Edgecombe girl..."  
  
"Julietta...Remember?" Hermione said, "Really Ron, you are a Prefect..."  
  
"I'll learn 'em eventually," he continued, "Anyway, maybe she just had no idea what the D.A. is, and heard Broderick talking, and wanted to do her part."  
  
"Broderick's a definite yes," Harry said, after a moment, "But we should keep an eye on Etta. We can always let her in later."  
  
"What about Aaronson?" Hermione asked, "He seems a bit shifty."  
  
"He's alright," Harry said smiling, "He's just scared of his own shadow."  
  
"Alright then. I'll make two more coins. But someone's got to tell Broderick to keep his mouth shut..."  
  
"I elect you," Ron said, yawning as he closed his notebook.  
  
"We're not done studying yet," Hermione said, but she was smiling.  
  
"Oh yes we are. I can't even think."  
  
"Well then, you can start your homework."  
  
"Hermione, look," Ron said crossly, "I know you're trying to help me, and all—"  
  
But Hermione was already standing and stretching.  
  
"Relax, Ron. We'll have another go tomorrow."  
  
"What got into you?" Harry asked with a grin.  
  
"Long first day," Hermione said, nodding as though she'd just realized the truth of this, "And I think we've got enough to be going on with, don't you?"  
  
Suddenly, Dean Thomas yelped and jumped back from the fireplace...the trio turned around to find the fire in the Gryffindor common room had just blazed bright green. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Seamus Finnigan stepped calmly out of the fire. He was carrying an extra pair of pants, which were stuffed and slung over his shoulders, and he had his wand in his pocket.  
  
"Seamus!" shouted Dean, and the two ran up to each other and slapped each other on the back.  
  
"I thought you weren't coming!"  
  
"Me mam didn't wan' me to come. But I couldn' leave my bes' mate stranded," Seamus said with a roguish grin. He slung his bundle to the ground...Harry saw he'd tied the pants cuffs of his school uniform together, and stuffed all of his clothes and possessions into the legs. Seamus glimpsed the bag of marshmallows.  
  
He groaned aloud, and he fell upon the marshmallows, not bothering to toast them.  
  
"Take it easy, we'll go to the kitchens later. What happened to you?"  
  
"Well," Seamus said, winking at Dora Ruff, a pretty young first year, "S'like I said, me mam didn't wan' me to come, on account of You Know Who—" Seamus cast a furtive glance at Harry, "—so she wouldn' give me any money for books or anything. But she wasn' keepin' me at home all year. Me own Da said, 'Seamus, you got to do what's right for you, not what's right for us.' I sorta took that like his permission, y'know? So I packed my things and took the Floo to the Three Broomsticks."  
  
"You've been at the Three Broomsticks this whole time?"  
  
"Nah," Seamus said, swallowing another marshmallow, "Camped out behind the hill...you know, where the Shrieking Shack is? Didn' wan' my folks to find me if they came lookin' for me. At leas' it didn't rain. But I'm starving...didn't have any money, so I couldn't exactly buy anything for dinner. All I had was an apple and a few chocolate frogs."  
  
Harry felt both happy and a little bit guilty as he looked at Seamus – he realized they'd both misjudged each other.  
  
"Welcome back, Seamus!" Harry said, with a grin, "Oi! Arthur!"  
  
"Y-y-y-y-yes?"  
  
"Want a mission?"  
  
Harry told him where to find the portrait of the fruit bowl, and instructed him to tickle the pear and ask for Dobby. Arthur showed up a few minutes later with Dobby and several other house elves carrying trays laden down with leftover chicken legs and wings, hot buttered rolls, and vegetables with creamy tangy dip – the others house elves left bowing and smiling, but Dobby waved his hand, and the same gold baubles Harry had found at their Christmas D.A. meeting last year (minus his face, of course) lit up the common room. For the next hour or so, there was a festive party atmosphere as everyone forgot their homework, and the stress of the first day back, told jokes (Dobby told a very funny one involving a house elf and a hippogriff), and just celebrated being back at Hogwarts together.  
  
Finally, Harry saw Hermione sleeping in an armchair, her goblet of pumpkin juice threatening to slip from her hand. Even Ron was yawning, and the first-years had long since gone to bed.  
  
"Right," Harry said, stretching, "Reckon it's time to get to bed. Here, let me lend you a hand, Dobby..."  
  
"Nonsense, Harry Potter, nonsense!" Dobby squeaked, his eyes shining with moist adoration, "I is never invited to a wizarding party before, sir! I is cleaning everything up. It is Dobby's job, after all!"  
  
And Harry found that all of them were being hustled up to bed as Dobby alternately scooped up plates and goblets and pushed them towards the staircase.  
  
Later, as Harry listened to Seamus's familiar snore from across the room, making an interesting overlapping rhythm to Ron's, he thought back on his day. His stomach full of hot food and pumpkin juice, drowsy with a hard day's work, and snug as a bug under his blankets, Harry reflected that if a rough first day was the price of ending the day this well, he would be more than happy to do it all over again.  
  
His eyes felt heavy...he let his mind drift...  
  
Harry was staring into the smug face of his father, striving to find something he recognized..."Who wants to see me take his pants off?" he asked with a roguish smile, and Harry felt himself being flipped upside down. Sirius was smiling and laughing at him. Ginny Weasley burst in and started scolding them all, but Remus said it wasn't their fault because Harry had killed them in the first place. Suddenly Hermione and Ron swooped in riding Buckbeak the hippogriff, presumably to rescue him, but Harry couldn't grab hold of Hermione's hand – they flew off...Neville was making a daisy chain with Cedric Diggory while Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood tossed a Quaffle back and forth...  
  
Then, Harry felt himself abruptly slip out of his dream, and he was walking down the corridor to the Department of Mysteries again. With a sinking feeling he tried to will his legs to run in the opposite direction, fully aware that he was asleep. Yet, this somehow felt different from last time...he knew Sirius was already dead...why was he here? He reached the door, swung it open, and found himself in the blue-lit room again, torches flickering dimly in their brackets. His heart was pounding.  
  
Suddenly he was running down a corridor at Hogwarts. He heard Ron shouting. What was he saying?  
  
He opened his eyes slowly, seeing the red velvet of his bed hangings near his nose. He heard Seamus muttering to Dean in his lilting accent, and heard Ron clattering around. Yawning, he pulled the hangings aside, and came face to face with Lord Voldemort, staring at him with blood-red eyes.  
  
"GAAH!!"  
  
Harry shot up in bed like a rocket.  
  
"Woah!" shouted Dean.  
  
Ron's anxious face came into view as he jerked Harry's curtain hangings aside.  
  
"Harry! Are you alright?"  
  
He thought fast. "Am I late for class?"  
  
Ron and the other boys laughed.  
  
"You're fine! Just hurry up and get dressed."  
  
"Oh," Harry lied, "Good...thought I was late..."  
  
Harry laid back down and took a deep breath. He wondered briefly whether he should tell someone about his dream...he hadn't the last time. But he finally decided that it wasn't worth it, really. He knew what the dream about the Department of Mysteries was all about, and he'd had plenty of dreams about Hogwarts before that hadn't meant anything.  
  
"If I notice anything odd or new," he resolved, "I'll go straight to Dumbledore."  
  
Harry arrived at breakfast and plunked in his usual spot across from Hermione and Ron. Luna was seated with Neville and Ginny, reading from the Quibbler, and trying out a charm to erase some of Ginny's freckles.  
  
"Morning, all!" Harry said cheerfully, pulling a tray of hard-boiled eggs closer.  
  
"You're in a good mood!" Ginny said happily, brushing a few purple freckles off her nose. Harry noted that Hermione and Ron seemed relieved as well. He secretly felt glad to know his friends had been worrying over him a bit.  
  
"Well, today's an easy day, 'cept for Transfiguration...and we get to see Hagrid," he said, tapping his egg on the table, "Plus, no Occlumency for a week!"  
  
"Oh...er...about that," Hermione said, looking very guilty.  
  
But she was interrupted by a rush of feathers, and a fleet of hooting owls descended on the Great Hall. Errol dropped a box of homemade cookies in front of Ron, and a letter in front of Ginny before flying off, and Hermione had the Daily Prophet dropped neatly on her toast.  
  
"Excellent!" Ron said, opening the tin, "Butterscotch!"  
  
"You're to [I]share[/I] those," Ginny said sternly, waving the card she had just opened, "Mum says!"  
  
"Fine then. Here you go," Ron said, handing her one cookie, "Can't say I didn't share them." Hermione elbowed him smartly, smiling distractedly as she scanned the headlines.  
  
Hedwig also swooped down, with a letter for Harry.  
  
"Who's it from?" Ron asked.  
  
"Dunno," Harry said, "No address. Must be from someone here." Hermione suddenly found an article of great import and began reading seriously.  
  
Harry opened the letter, and a waft of sickly sweet, incense-y smell made his nose smart:  
  
"Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
I was gazing into my crystal the other day, and was surprised to see Miss Granger, of all people, sending me a note via the school owl. So, while it came as no shock to me when she contacted me yesterday, I imagine it will come as a surprise to you.  
  
She told me you had expressed interest in taking yoga over the summer, in an effort to clear your mind for the purposes of better Seeing, and while I had always seen in your Head Line that you were desperately in need of clarity, I was pleased to hear that you were finally heeding my advice on the subject...while Muggles have been throwing their backs out for centuries in an attempt to organize their minds, I feel it is studying the ancient art of Transcendental Meditation that would give you the best hopes of unclouding your Inner Eye (a discipline in which, as you may have heard, I happen to be quite skilled...not that these things matter, of course....I am only pleased that my gift of Sight could be of continued service to the community.)  
  
While my schedule is indeed, very full, I consulted my crystal on the matter, and saw myself assisting you each Tuesday after classes for a period of two hours time...think of it as extra help. And do not worry – even those with the most clouded vision can be aided by this ancient technique. You will find me in the usual place.  
  
Looking forward, as always, Sybill Trelawney  
  
(PS. Miss Granger told me how badly you felt about your Divination OWLS...there is no need to be discouraged. Not all of us were meant to be Seers, but I feel we can all benefit from the study of this deeply personal, and venerable art.) (PPS, You may not have realized it, but Mars and Venus are currently aligned. Do remember to thank Miss Granger for her kind letter, won't you?)"  
  
Harry looked up at Hermione to find her forehead had gone quite red over the top of the newspaper.  
  
"Hermione..."  
  
"Oh [I]don't[/I], Harry!" she wailed, "I thought it would help!"  
  
"What do I care about Divination!" Harry said, cracking his egg a bit too firmly in his irritation, "I was just happy not to have to see that presumptuous old bat anymore. Besides, you make me sound like an idiot..."  
  
"Not Trelawney! Hermione, have you gone mad?" Ron asked, indignantly.  
  
"I thought it would help with your!..." she looked round, and then leaned in closer, "I thought it would help with your Occlumency, Harry! What better way to clear your head than learning to meditate? And who cares if you have to suck up to her a bit..."  
  
"Well, you might've asked me first—"  
  
"[I]SEAMUS BRODY FINNIGAN!!![/I]" bellowed a throaty woman's voice. Harry dropped his egg, and Neville choked on a bit of toast, as they all wheeled around to see Seamus a few yards down the table, shrinking before a smoking red envelope. It burst open, and Mrs. Finnigan's awe-inspiring rant, thick with Irish brogue, filled the Great Hall:  
  
"WHAT BUSINESS D'YE HAVE RUNNING OFF LIKE THA' – DIDN' I TELL YOU WE DIDN'T WANT YOU GOING BACK? – LIKELY TO COME HOME DEAD, FOR ALL WE KNOW – FATHER'S DISTRAUGHT, BEEN DOWN THE PUB ALL NIGHT, FOR ALL YOU CARE, I SUPPOSE IT'S TOO MUCH TO ASK THAT YOU USE YOUR COMMON SENSE, BUT MARK MY WORDS, YOU KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN AND STAY OUT OF BUSINESS THAT'S NOTHIN' TO DO WITH YE, OR IT'LL BE OUR HOUSE BURNING DOWN NEXT, AND THEN WHAT'LL YOU COME CRAWLING HOME TO? AND DON'T YOU DARE WRITE HOME FOR MONEY, BECAUSE THERE SHAN'T BE ANY!"  
  
And with that, the letter burst into flames, and curled into a smoking pile of scraps and ashes on the table.  
  
Ron and Ginny had gone beet red, and were scowling at the remains of their breakfast. Draco Malfoy and several of the Slytherins were laughing a bit performatively. Seamus had gone white-faced and jabbed his eggs with his fork angrily.  
  
Hermione, seemingly meekened by Mrs. Finnigan's display, ventured, "Harry, I'm really sorry, I was just trying to help—"  
  
"I know, Hermione. It's alright," Harry said with a sigh, "We'd better get to class hadn't we?"  
  
"It's a bit early, isn't it?" asked Neville, but at a look from Harry, he seemed to notice Ron and Ginny's embarrassment, and took the hint.  
  
Charms went relatively well. Despite Flitwick's unsettling warnings about the difficulty of their NEWTS, they still had a whole two years to prepare, so they didn't let it unsettle them too much. The first charm Flitwick had them work on was the Homorphus Charm. And there was very little question in their minds as to why...  
  
"The Homorphus Charm is used to turn non-human wizards, for example, Animagi, or potentially a werewolf," Flitwick said delicately in his squeaky voice, "back into their human form."  
  
Harry squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of his Defense homework, and wondered if Lupin was back in school yet...  
  
"I have invited Professor McGonagall to help us demonstrate...in fact, she should be—ah, here she comes!"  
  
Professor McGonagall swept into the classroom, and Harry thought he saw her tucking a very familiar hourglass pendant into her robes.  
  
"So sorry, Professor – hope I didn't keep you waiting. I nearly forgot."  
  
"Not at all, dear lady," Flitwick chirped, "If you would?"  
  
"Of course," McGonagall said politely, and before their eyes, she shrank and morphed into a gray tabby, and lept stiffly onto Flitwick's desk, settling herself regally.  
  
"Ah, yes. Now you'll note the distinctive markings about her eyes? Nearly all Animagi have distinguishing characteristics such as this, which are noted in a Registry at the Ministry of Magic, but unless you are aware of what markings to look for, it is impossible to disitinguish an Animagus from a regular animal, except of course, for their behavior. Now, who'd like to give it a try?"  
  
Hermione went first, and with a flash of bluish light, successfully managed to reverse the procedure...the cat seemed to grow, and change shape in slow motion, and McGonagall was suddenly sitting primly on the edge of Flitwick's desk.  
  
"Well done, Miss Granger! Five points to Gryffindor!"  
  
They took turns for the rest of the class, though no one else was able to make McGonagall revert to her normal state, though Harry managed to make McGonagall's spectacles appear, seated lopsidedly on her small, black nose, putting her whiskers askew.  
  
Transfiguration followed, and McGonagall swept into class a few minutes late again, a few of her hairs straying from her severe bun. She sat at her desk, a bit out of breath, and gestured for the class to take out their wands. There was a rustle of activity as she composed herself, and then she gave a very similar lecture to Flitwick's about the difficulty they'd be encountering in NEWT level Transfiguration. Harry began to get a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach – the NEWTs really must be nastily exhuasting if they were already issuing such dire warnings...  
  
They spent the rest of the lesson learning about Animagi, and the difficult study involved in learning to use the power. McGonagall stressed thoroughly that Animagi were generally born, not made, and that to learn to become one would be very difficult indeed. Harry found his mind wandering to the Animagi he knew...he imagined his Dad and Sirius chuckling their way through this lecture, already running amok during the nights of the full moon...his thoughts then wandered to Peter Pettigrew, and he felt his stomach tighten with hatred.  
  
"Potter? Have you been paying attention?"  
  
He looked up with a slight feeling of panic, and nodded automatically. There were a few chuckles.  
  
"Good," McGonagall said, eyeing him sternly, "Well then, we might as well have everyone come up here and give it a try. Now, don't feel badly if you can't do it, I'd be shocked if anyone could...as I said, it's really more of a natural talent than anything else..."  
  
One by one they went up to the front of the classroom. McGonagall had them concentrate very hard on the spell, and to see if the image of an animal came into their minds. Most of the time, nobody saw anything. Parvati tried to say that she saw a Unicorn, but McGonagall rolled her eyes and said that it was highly unlikely, as most wizards turned into common, non-magical creatures. Looking a bit disappointed, Parvati sat down.  
  
Finally, Harry got up to the front of the class, feeling quite bored by now, as nobody had so much as managed to muss up their hair.  
  
"Alright, Potter," said McGonagall briskly, "Give it a shot."  
  
Harry closed his eyes and furrowed his brow with concentration.  
  
"Animagus...animagus..."  
  
But the only thing that came to mind was his the image of his silvery stag Patronus...Prongs. His father. He thought of the wedding photo, tucked safely in the album under his bed, of his father's hazel eyes shining with pride...  
  
"That'll do, Potter. Apparently not."  
  
Harry sighed, and returned to his seat.  
  
"Well, don't be too discouraged," McGonagall said, "If you really have your heart set on it, you could manage it with a lot of intensive study. But it's really not necessary. Most of the benefits – being able to disguise yourself, for example, can be attained through various other charms and spells that are much easier to master."  
  
They broke for lunch, and when they reconvened, McGonagall had them review some of last year's Transfiguration work, just to make sure they'd all been practicing over the summer.  
  
Soon, they were out walking in the crisp, September sunshine. Harry breathed in deeply the smell of fall, counted how many of the trees had already starting turning yellow or orange. Hermione and Ron were arguing over what animal they might turn into. Ron had made the tactical error of suggesting that Hermione would actually turn into a bookworm, but even their bickering seemed homey and familiar to Harry.  
  
Finally, they arrived at Hagrid's hut. Malfoy and the Slytherins had already arrived, unfortunately.  
  
"Alright there, scar-head? Weasel king?" Ron scowled, but Harry noted surprisingly that Malfoy had left Hermione out of it.  
  
"Fine, thanks," he said hesitantly. Was this actually Malfoy's feeble attempt at being polite? No, couldn't be. Maybe he had just finally learned that calling Hermione a Mudblood would earn him nothing but a black eye and an unwelcome intrusion from Ginny into his private affairs.  
  
Hagrid came bursting out of his cabin door, grinning merrily, and carrying a large steaming cauldron.  
  
"Allo, there! Allo, you three!" he said, waving at them, "'Ave I got somethin' special for you today!"  
  
Malfoy fidgeted nervously, and Harry and Ron shared a smirk. But secretly, Harry was a little nervous as to what Hagrid might have up his sleeve...he needn't have been however, for their first magical creature of the year came scurrying down Hagrid's front steps... 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

It was no fearsome, fanged beast that came traipsing down Hagrid's stone steps, but Dobby the house elf.  
  
"Dobby!" exclaimed Harry, and several of the other Gryffindors also laughed with relief, and waved hello.  
  
"Good afternoon, young sirs and misses," Dobby said, his nose scraping the stoop as he bowed elegantly. Parvati giggled.  
  
"What's in the cauldron, then?" Pansy Parksinson asked dubiously.  
  
"Hot cider!" Hagrid bellowed cheerfully, taking a sleeve of paper coffee cups out of one of his many pockets, "Go on then, 'elp yourselves."  
  
"I is making it for you, young masters!" Dobby said proudly, as he scooped up several cups of hot cider and began passing them out, "With cinnamon, and cloves, and other secrets only Dobby knows! Take! Take!"  
  
"What?!" Draco Malfoy was livid. "That thing...that's my house elf! Get over here, servant!"  
  
Dobby cringed, and automatically took one step forward. Hagrid gave Draco a scowl, and drew himself up to his full height (which was certainly saying something, as Hagrid was half-giant).  
  
"Now look 'ere..."  
  
But Dobby had straightened up himself, and pointed an angry finger at Malfoy.  
  
"I is not your servant anymore! I is belonging to nobody! Dobby is a free elf! I is working for Albus Dumbledore, now!"  
  
"You tell him, Dobby!" Hermione hissed hotly. She then started elbowing Harry and Ron in the ribs, whispering happily, "Didn't I tell you? Didn't I?"  
  
"I figured seein' as you're sixth-years, now" Hagrid explained, "It was time we move on from Magical Creatures to Magical Beings."  
  
"I fail to see the difference," Draco said coldly.  
  
"Well, tha's actually the problem," Hagrid continued excitedly, "See, The Ministry o' Magic, they divide all magical creatures into two kinds, like...There's yer Beast division, and then you 'ave yer Being division. Now things like flobberworms and nifflers and things wot can't think fer themselves, they's in the Beast division. But then you 'ave other creatures wot can think and talk an' such...now that gets a bit tricky."  
  
"And house elves are in the Being division, right?" Hermione asked brightly.  
  
"Right you are, 'Ermione. A house elf can think fer itself, and can make itself understood by wizards, so—"  
  
"A house elf? Think for itself?" Draco asked, his entire face contorted with anger. A lot of the other Slytherins seemed pretty upset by where this lecture was going as well. "It's a house elf's job not to think for itself...it's their whole...reason for living!"  
  
Dobby screwed up his fists into tight little balls and glared at Draco.  
  
"Well, now, that ain't quite it, y'see," Hagrid said, and Harry could tell he was trying to keep his temper for his first class, "A house elf is bound to a family, most o' the time...one wizarding family, an' they serve jus' that family. And their children, an' their children's children, an' so on. See, it's part of the magic in 'em that binds 'em to that family. A house elf can only be freed when 'is master presents 'im with clothes...Like the jacket wot Dobby's got on 'ere..."  
  
"Or a sock!" Dobby squeaked, with an admiring smile in Harry's direction.  
  
Indeed, Dobby was sporting a miniature brown corduroy blazer, with mismatched yellow and green socks, and two of Hermione's knit hats pulled rakishly to one side.  
  
Lavender raised her hand.  
  
"Right! Miss Lavender."  
  
"Well, besides being tied to one family, what makes a house elf a magical creature?"  
  
"Good question! Why don't you show 'em, Dobby?"  
  
"With pleasure, Mister Hagrid sir!" Dobby said with a grin, cracking his knuckles.  
  
With a wave of his bony fingers, Dobby made the same stream of gold baubles appear in midair before them. He also caused Ron Weasley to hover briefly in midair, grinning sheepishly and blushing as the rest of the class laughed, and with a wave of his hand, he Scourgified the entire front of Hagrid's hut.  
  
Draco pushed his way forward furiously, with Crabbe and Goyle at either flank. Dobby jumped back in alarm, and glared at him from behind Hagrid's leg.  
  
"It's not right!" Draco shouted vehemently, and Harry saw that he had gone pale with fury, "It's not right! He's not even a real house elf anymore! He's just some oddball...a house elf that's not tied to a wizard family isn't a house elf! Besides, he's mine! I demand you come here, Dobby!" Draco shouted, pointing at his foot.  
  
"No!" shouted Dobby, shaking his fist at Draco, and clutching Hagrid's trouser leg. Hagrid looked from one to the other anxiously. Harry could tell he hadn't expected an altercation during his first lesson of the year...  
  
"Young master's father is...is...a bad, bad wizard!" Dobby shouted, "Always kicking Dobby and putting lumps on his head! Always plotting dark plots! Dobby is glad to be a free elf! Dobby would rather be an oddball elf than serve you!" The class began to squirm – this was getting a bit ugly.  
  
"You!" shouted Draco, wheeling on Harry, who took a stepped backwards in alarm, "This is all your fault!"  
  
The class gasped as Draco whipped out his wand. But Dobby had already lept out in front of Hagrid.  
  
"You shall not harm Harry Potter!" he squeaked angrily, and with a wave of his hand, Draco Malfoy went flying backwards over the heads of the entire class, and landed with a thud about ten yards back, that knocked all the wind out of him. The entire class stared open-mouthed. Harry was reminded of the last time Dobby had saved him in this way, but found that he was just as awestruck now as he was then by the strength Dobby possessed...  
  
"Right, forgot to mention tha'," Hagrid continued brightly, the tension evident in his voice, "They're quite good at defensive magic...quite powerful, when they 'ave a mind to be...s'pose it comes from bein' so small, like. 'Ave to defend themselves somehow, don' they?"  
  
Draco picked himself up, his white-blonde hair slipping out of his ponytail, grass and leaves clinging to his robes.  
  
"We'll see what my father has to say about this!" he directed venomously at Hagrid.  
  
Hagrid snorted derisively, "Right. Fat lot of good that'll do ye. Not exactly one of the School Governors anymore, is he?"  
  
The class got very quiet, even the Slytherins.  
  
"My father is innocent," hissed Draco, "And as soon as he's cleared, he'll be back on the Board of Governors, and you'll be out of a job. And if you think I'm going to stand here and be made a fool of, then you're more of an idiot than I thought!"  
  
But Hagrid had had quite enough by now. "Yer father is lying, murderin' scum, and I don't care for you much more," he said, his face turning splotchy red, "Now you can either stay an' learn somethin', or bugger off, and as yer gettin' detention either way, I don' care which, frankly."  
  
"Fine then," Draco said coolly, "Crabbe, Goyle. Anyone else who thinks this is a load of rubbish can follow me."  
  
But nobody followed. Pansy Parkinson looked as thought she felt she ought to, but kept looking back at Hagrid, clearly weighing whether it was worth getting detention. In the end, she just looked down at her feet as though wishing herself invisible.  
  
"Looks like it's jus' you three, then," Hagrid said bluntly, "Reckon you'd better get goin'."  
  
"Fine," Draco said, eyeing his fellow Slytherins with contempt, "But mark my words, there's going to be some changes around here!"  
  
And with that he turned and stalked off, leaving Crabbe and Goyle to scurry after him.  
  
"What did he mean by that?" Hermione whispered anxiously.  
  
"Who cares!" Ron said, delighted etched on every feature, "Did you see how far he flew?"  
  
They spent the rest of the lessons discussing the various rules and restrictions the Ministry of Magic had placed on house elves...most of which, Harry had to agree, were pretty unfair. At one point, Hermione got on her soapbox and told the class yet again about her S.P.E.W. efforts, and letter campaign, but Hagrid gently countered that most house elves were quite happy to serve a wizarding family.  
  
"I'm not sayin' all of 'em!" he added quickly, at a smoldering glare from Hermione, "I mean, look at Dobby 'ere! No, there's plenty of abuse wot goes on...but mos' of em are quite happy. In fact, Hogwarts is the largest community of house elves in Britain!" he finished proudly.  
  
"Exactly!" Hermione said, her dander up, "And it's they, the house elves, that cook all of our food, and do all of our laundry, and make up the common room each night! We owe them all a serious debt of gratitude!"  
  
Harry caught Parvati and Lavender imitating her behind her back, as Dean snickered, but didn't have the heart to tell them off. Hermione did tend to make herself an easy target. Ron looked about ready to sink into the floor with embarrassment.  
  
"But we is happy to serve, Young Miss," Dobby interjected, "Dobby is happy at Hogwarts! Us house elves, we is just wanting fair treatment!" Dobby continued firmly, "And every house elf knows, Hogwarts is the best place for a house elf! We is just needing a union!" he continued, his moist, green eyes the size of tennis balls in his fervor, "to make sure house elves in all places is treated decent!"  
  
Later, as the class was getting ready to leave, Hermione scolded Ron and Harry a bit.  
  
"You might've backed me up!" she said irritatedly.  
  
"What, and look like a couple of maniacs?" Ron said. "Not...not that you do," he added hastily.  
  
"Alrigh', you three?" Hagrid said, clapping a beefy hand onto Harry and Hermione's shoulders, and nearly knocking them to the ground. Suddenly, he met Harry's eye, and looked so absolutely shocked, that Harry was sure he must look a fright.  
  
"What? What is it?" he asked anxiously, "Have I got something on my face?"  
  
"No, no, s'not that, just...blimey Harry, you look more an' more like your Da'."  
  
Hermione and Ron turned to look at him. Hermione squinted a bit.  
  
"He's right," she said slowly, "There's something...I dunno. Different about you. I can't quite place it."  
  
Harry shrugged sadly, "Well, I guess it makes sense. I do tend to take after him."  
  
"Yeh, but it's almos'..." Hagrid trailed off again, and then seemed to realize he was making Harry uncomfortable, for he clapped them on the shoulders again (and this time Hermione did fall down, and Ron had to grab her by the arm at the last moment), "Well! Guess I'd better let you three get yerselves to 'erbology, then! You lot'll come visit me when you get a mo', won't ye?" He leaned in confidentially, "Would love for ye to come an' visit Grawpy with me some time. 'E does ask for 'is Hermy!"  
  
After reluctantly promising to pay "Grawpy" a visit, and promising again to visit Dobby in the kitchens, the trio made their way to Herbology.  
  
"You know," Ron said, thoughtfully studying Harry's face, "You really do look a lot more like your Dad..."  
  
Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Ever since he'd seen Snape's memory of his father, he wasn't sure how he felt when people told him this. Of course he still loved his father – or what little he knew of him – he just couldn't understand how the gentle shadow from the Priori Incantatem, the proud, beaming husband from the wedding photo, the noble Prongs Patronus, and the arrogant little berk that Snape recalled all fit together into one person...it was as though Harry had four or five fathers standing before him and had to decide which was his "real" father...the "real" James Potter...  
  
Hermione and Ron seemed to notice his sombre mood, because they didn't say anything else on their way to Herbology.  
  
Herbology was fairly non-eventful, especially by comparison. To be honest, Harry didn't pay too much attention, knowing he'd be able to figure it out from Hermione's notes well before their first test. Besides, Professor Sprout was just lecturing about her prize Venomous Tentacula...it didn't seem they'd be doing any magic or anything. Harry watched idly as she slapped away a tendril that was creeping casually over her shoulders.  
  
In fact, it wasn't until after classes that Harry was abruptly snapped out of his funk.  
  
"Harry, err..." Hermione stammered, "I think...that is, it's time...you'd better..."  
  
Something clunked into place in Harry's mind. "Ohhhh," he groaned, "Trelawney."  
  
"Tough break, mate," Ron said sympathetically, "But think of it this way, at least you're not getting graded, or anything. Just sit there for a while. If you're lucky, she'll nod off, and you can catch up on your sleep."  
  
Hermione eyed Ron rather sternly at this, but Harry heaved a complacent sigh. It was probably true that he wouldn't get much out of it, but it could be worse. He said goodbye to his friends, and promised to meet them for dinner later. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

And for about the hundredth time in two days, Harry Potter was running through a Hogwarts hallway.

"At the very least," he thought wryly, "I'll be in peak shape for Quidditch." But the thought of being Quidditch Captain still made his stomach wriggle, so he forced it out of his head.

Finally, he arrived at the trap door in the ceiling with the brass plate bearing the name Sybill Trelawney. He took a deep sigh. Well, there was no ladder...maybe he could just leave, and tell her the next time he saw her that she'd forgotten to leave the ladder out?

But just as a little bit of hope sprang up in his chest, the trap door opened, and a ladder magically lowered itself in front of him.

"Come right up, Mr. Potter!" came the ethereal sound of Trelawney's voice, "I've been expecting you!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Only because you told me when and where to meet you," he muttered, but he climbed the ladder dutifully. When he finally clambered up into Trelawney's dim attic classroom, he was reminded how uncomfortably warm it was. The windows had the curtains drawn, there were veils over all the lights, and as always, the fireplace was crackling. One thing was different, however, from his previous classes – after he stepped into the room, the ladder magically withdrew back into itself, and the trap door slammed shut.

"So that no one disturbs us. It is vital that we remain uninterrupted if we are to properly channel the psyche...I Iwas/I expecting you of course, but nonetheless, I am pleased to see you."

Harry looked up, and had to contain his laughter. Instead of her usual witches' robes adorned with countless scarves, beads, baubles, and trinkets, Trelawney was wearing what looked like shapeless, burlap pajamas, and was seated in the Lotus position on one of her chintz poufs, wearing the "enlightened" expression of a highly sedated cow.

She must have noticed the look on his face, because a raised eyebrow prompted him to say, "Err...yes. Nice to see you, too..."

He decided to try leveling with her. "Look, I'm...not doing any yoga..."

"Of course not!" she said, shaking her head as though he had said something very childish, "Ridiculous...Muggle nonsense...spraining muscles and tearing tendons in search of inner peace. No, no...ITranscendental Meditation/I, Mr. Potter. You are familiar?"

"Err...I know what it is...but, no...not familiar, sadly."

"Ah!" Trelawney gasped, and clucked her tongue as though not being familiar with Transcendental Meditation was a travesty indeed.

"Well, young man, that will all change starting today! First of all, why don't you drop your bags...yes, leave behind all the cares of your daily life..."

"I wish," Harry thought glumly, as he kicked his bag out of the way, and made himself comfortable in an armchair.

"No, no dear...like me!" Trelawney said serenely, indicating her pretzeled legs.

Feeling a bit ridiculous, Harry tucked one leg underneath himself, grabbed his ankle, and tried to get it to go above his left knee, but his trainers kept catch on his pants leg, and he couldn't get it to stay. He winced as his knee gave an audible pop, and he looked up to see Professor Trelawney eyeing him pityingly.

"Hmm...this might be more difficult than I thought."

Harry felt his blood start to pound. Who was she to look down her nose at him? He didn't need to come here every week, of his own free will, just to be made a fool out of...

"Calm down," he told himself, "Occlumency. You're doing this for a reason."

"Aaaaaaaand IN???...." Trelawney intoned.

Alarmed, Harry wondered briefly what he ought to do. Was this a question? In what? But Trelawney settled the mystery for him by inhaling a vast amount of air through her upturned nostrils, with a sound somewhere between rustling of leaves, and Aunt Petunia's vacuum cleaner.

This time, he couldn't stop his laughter in time.

"I Ido/I hope, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice considerably less misty, "That you are taking this seriously? Laughter is very disruptive to the aura."

"Ah. Yes. Sorry...Didn't mean to...disturb your aura," he said, stifling laughter even as the words left his mouth. He coughed, cleared his throat, and dutifully took in a large breath through his nose.

"Ah!" cried Trelawney, and Harry again felt a jolt of alarm, "I knew it! Completely atrophied – totally disconnected...Not nearly enough, dear, go on...deeper!"

Harry, bewildered, tried to force a little more air into his lungs.

"Yes, THAT'S the way...aaaaaaaand.........OUUUUUUUUT....."

Harry blew the air out his lungs, and began to cough. It felt as though somebody had been pulling on his ribs.

"Veeeery good. Aaaaaaand IN???"

Harry groaned inwardly. He had been the youngest Seeker in a century. He'd faced dragons, dementors...he'd escaped Lord Voldemort more times than he could count on one hand, and he had not come to Hogwarts to take breathing lessons from Professor Sybill Trelawney.

He was just formulating an excuse to head down to dinner, when he realized Sybill was observing him curiously, her head cocked to the side like a spaniel's – Harry was surprised to realize he'd seen a similar expression on Luna Lovegood.

"You're doubtful. I can sense it...you're sending out very doubtful waves."

Harry thought wryly of some other choice waves to send out.

"Doubt can be useful, Mr. Potter, as I'm sure Miss Granger has demonstrated for you. It forces us to corroborate our suspicions, and re-evaluate what we perceive to be the truth... Yes, doubt can even save lives."

Harry felt as though ice water was flooding his heart...was she talking about Sirius? If he had doubted...if he had just questioned the visions Voldemort was planting in his head...

"But doubt is not everything."

"What is," Harry muttered irritably.

"Wonder."

He didn't say anything. He felt hot, cranky, and not terribly "Zen." But mostly, he admitted to himself, he was annoyed that Sybill Trelawney might know something he didn't.

"Alright, Hermione," he thought to himself resolutely, "If you think this is a good idea...I guess I can stand breathing lessons."

They spent the next half-hour improving Harry's lung capacity. Half the time he ended up coughing and choking. But by the end of the half hour, he was able to draw in deep, measured breaths...the steady (albeit annoying) sound of air rushing through their nostrils was actually soothing in a way. He felt knots he didn't know existed untie in his shoulders and his eyebrows. His fingers and toes felt warmer, and seemed to be...vibrating, almost. He admitted to himself that he felt pretty good.

"Yes, very good," Trelawney intoned deeply, "Most of us walk around taking shallow little breaths...shallow little breaths, Mr. Potter, make for shallow little lives. Ah – straighten...yesssss, better, no slouching. Now...Transcendental Meditation requires that we take a moment to commune with nature, and with the psychic forces swirling around us...that we just..." she gestured off into space dreamily, "Drift off! Let our minds wander, and eventually, find stillness..."

Harry felt like his mind was about to find stillness in a more traditional way, and he had to jerk his eyes open.

"Now...close your eyes..."

"I'm done for," Harry thought sleepily.

"Yesssss, good."

The scent of the incense...the warmth of the room...the soft, plush yield of the armchair below him...but it wasn't an armchair...it was an arm...a large, hairy arm, and he was warm, with the motorcycle humming underneath him...

He was walking down the corridor to the Department of Mysteries. He opened the door, and stepped into the circular chamber, lit by blue torches...he wondered which door to take...

He was walking down a corridor at Hogwarts...he heard Ron's voice...

"Mr. Potter!" Trelawney's voice rang out. It was decidedly shrill and un-misty. Harry jolted awake.

"Yes, well," Trelawney muttered angrily, "I suppose that was...a beginning...of sorts. Although apparently closing your eyes was a bad idea."

"S-sorry," Harry said, stifling an involuntary yawn, "I've just been really tired, is all..."

"Yes, yes, fine," Trelawney said, irritatedly, "You may go if you like."

Harry felt badly...he hadn't meant to embarrass her.

"Thanks for the lesson," he said courteously, "I'll practice during the week."

Trelawney seemed a bit mollified, and some of the mist had re-inflated her voice.

"You do that, Mr. Potter...it is, after all, a practice...There is no end arrival, just the continued practice of it...I shall see you in a week."

She waved her wand, and the trap door opened up.

As he was walking to the Great Hall, Harry couldn't help but think back on his dream with frustration. What was Ron saying? He also felt a bit nervous. Maybe he should tell someone.

"It's probably just a dream," he repeated mentally, "If there's anything suspicious or weird, I'll go straight to Dumbledore."

But his conscience was nagging...

He arrived at dinner to find Luna Lovegood sitting next to Ron, making an abstract sculpture out of her mashed potatoes, while Neville looked on, discouraged. Both Ron and Ginny were grumpily stabbing and sawing at their food, and Michael Corner was regaling them with an (apparently) long-winded explanation of moves he was going to perform at the Quidditch try-outs.

"That's right," Ginny said, "Aren't you going out with Cho? She'll have to let you in, won't she?"

Michael adopted the tremulous expression of a kicked puppy. "You know we broke up."

"Right, how could I forget," Ginny said ruefully, as though wishing very much they were still together.

"Cho Chang, I'm assuming?" Harry said, sitting down next to Ginny.

"The same," Ginny said, "Made Captain, apparently." She allowed herself a naughty smirk in his direction, "Going to make for an interesting match with Ravenclaw this year."

Harry gave her a sidelong smirk. He really didn't hold any grudges with Cho...in fact, he sincerely hoped she'd be happier this year...he knew what it was like to have memories you couldn't get rid of. He was about to dig into the food that had appeared on his plate, when he noticed Ron's predicament, and figured he'd better throw him a life-line.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked pointedly.

"Not sure she's coming. Had a fight," Ron said glumly, "As usual. Over you, actually. I told her it was really pushy of her to write to Trelawney like that," he said, "and she said I never appreciated anything she did, and she brought up the whole thing with my textbook, and...well, it doesn't matter anyway, she's just in one of her moods."

"He was a git," Ginny said frankly. Ron scowled. "Well, you were! You said she just did it to show off!"

"Do you have to Isay/I it?" Ron said angrily, "I mean, alright, I wanted to buy my own books, it's not my fault that..." but he stopped himself.

Harry felt a twinge of guilt. Ought he to have bought Ron's books for him? Yes, he'd bought them the robes, but he could afford it...besides, it was his fault their house had burned down...

"Hey, uhm...Luna?" Neville said, reaching into his schoolbag, "I...I was in...Herbology today, and...oh...you probably know that, because you're in Ravenclaw, and you always have class after us...not, you and me, I mean, Gryffindor and...anyway, if you didn't know, we were working on Venomous Tentaculas?..."

"Oh!" Luna said, surprisedly looking up from her potato art, "Hello, Neville!"

Harry and Ron winced. But Neville seemed delighted.

"Hello!" he said, "Oh, right, I...I made this...it's f...for you...if you want it."

And he took out a small clay pot...inside, was an even smaller sprout, and at the very top was a tiny white orchid.

"Oh," Luna said, as though he had passed her the butter, "Thank you, Neville!"

"Watch," Neville said, smiling shyly. He took out a quill, and began tickling its petals. Suddenly, it snapped closed, and Harry could hear a quiet hissing sound.

"See, it's a hybrid," Neville said fondly, "It snaps closed on little bugs and things, and then the venom dissolves it..."

Luna's eyes went wide, and she leaned in closer.

"Really!" she said, "Is it only for feeding, or is it also a defense mechanism?" Neville flushed with pride.

"I don't really know," he said, gaining a little confidence, "I just invented it, I guess...I asked Professor Sprout if anyone had ever tried pollenating a fly trap with a Tentacula spore, and she said they hadn't...so...I thought you might like it, because..."

He took a deep breath, "Well, because it's smart. Well, for a plant it is...and it's a little odd...and really...really beautiful."

Harry found he was holding his breath. He could feel that Ginny had stopped bouncing her knee under the table. Ron was tactlessly gaping at Neville open-mouthed, like a man who'd just spied his salvation.

"Mmm..." Luna said dreamily, "It is beautiful, in a plant sort of way. Does it have a name?"

"IVenus Tentacula!/I" Neville said proudly, "But...er...you can call her whatever you want."

"Is it a she?" Luna asked curiously, tilting her head, "How can you tell?"

"Oh," Neville said, blushing, "I guess, I just thought of it as a she."

"Maybe she reminds you of someone," Ginny said casually, smiling down at her plate. Harry gave her a sidelong glance. That was a bit ham-fisted...

Suddenly, there was loud "whumph!" as Hermione's books came thudding down on the bench, shortly followed by Hermione herself. Food appeared in front of her, and she began to eat.

"Hmph," Ron said gruffly, "We were just wondering whether you'd be here or not."

"Harry," Hermione said frostily, "Would you please tell Ron that Great Hall is where one generally goes to eat dinner?"

"Harry," Ron said crossly, and Harry felt the same uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, "IDo/I tell Hermione that there are plenty of other tables in Great Hall."

"You want me to leave?" Hermione asked directly.

Ron hesitated. Ginny kicked him under the table.

"Ow! No...no."

"Don't Ihelp/I, Ginny," Hermione said crossly, and stalked off carrying her plate.

"Here," Luna said, reaching into her bag, and taking out another hideous troll. She placed it on the table in front of Ron, "I think you might need more than one."

After having to write that dreadful werewolf essay, and the Potions one, and another week of tough classes, Harry was quite glad when Saturday arrived. He woke up with the sun, his nerves jangling merrily, the fresh, clean smell wafting in through the open window.

"And no dreams!" he mentally congratulated himself. He heard Ron stir next to him, and he yanked the curtains back.

"Rise and shine!" he whispered, shaking Ron roughly.

Ron groaned, "Giiiiin...j'z gimmfi' minz."

Harry grinned, and leaned closer.

"Quidditch."

Ron yawned, sat up in bed, and rubbed the blear out of his eyes with a grin.

"Finally!"

They hurriedly got dressed and rushed downstairs only to find Hermione asleep on the common room couch, a text book lying face-down on her stomach.

"I bet she waited up," Harry whispered guiltily, "so she could catch us before we went to practice."

Ron screwed up his face.

"You really should apologize –"

"We'll see her later," Ron said, "Besides, she knows where to find us. Come on."

They got to the Gryffindor locker room to find Sloper and Kirke already suited up, Ginny Weasley nodding off on top of a pile of clean uniforms, and Katie Bell yawningly tying her shin guards on.

"Wow," Harry said, "You lot are early."

"Raring to go, Captain!" saluted Jack smartly. Harry winced.

"Err...Harry will do fine, Jack...and...please don't salute. Right," he said briskly, "Well, first of all, I'm really glad you all made it. I know the whole team doesn't always show up for tryouts – "

"Wouldn't have it any other way!" Katie said, grinning.

Harry nodded happily. Well, at least she was back on his side. "Now, no matter who's out there, let's try to keep it neutral...don't...you know, react one way or the other. And just...fly your best. This is the first time we're practicing since summer—"

"Is it?" Katie asked, with a dubious expression. Ginny actually looked a bit guilty.

"Well, Harry...I mean, some of us live in wizarding families..."

"We practiced every day! Didn't we?" Andrew said excitedly. Jack Sloper nodded vigorously.

Harry felt quite stupid.

"Ah! Right. Well, first time II'm/I practicing since summer at least..."

He laughed nervously.

"Never hurt us before!" Ron said clapping Harry on the shoulders confidently. Katie smiled a bit, and seemed to relax.

"Right!" Harry said, "So let's get out there, have some fun, and find ourselves a Chaser!"

With a quick "Go, Go, Gryffindor!" they headed out to the field, to find...

"Err," said Ron, chuckling nervously, "D'you think they slept in?"

Harry's heart sank. Nobody? Nobody wanted to be a chaser for Gryffindor?

"It's because it's so early," Katie said glumly, "I bet people thought practices would be before classes, and didn't want to do it."

But Harry saw someone trudging through the main entrance.

"Oh no," Katie said under her breath.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Broderick Johnson came trudging through the archway, waving cheerfully at them.  
  
"He's a first year," Katie groaned in a half-whisper.  
  
"Maybe he's good," Ron said hopefully, "Angelina was..."  
  
"Ron, he's a first year!" Katie said despondently, "And he's probably first- rate, but McGonagall—"  
  
"She let Harry," Ginny interrupted, "She might let Broderick."  
  
"I think that was more of an exception," Harry said. He had a feeling even McGonagall couldn't bend the rules too much. But any further speculation was cut off as Broderick walked within earshot.  
  
"Morning!" he said brightly.  
  
"Morning," Harry said, trying to sound firm, "I'm really sorry, Broderick, but—"  
  
"Yeah, I know," he interrupted, "Second year and above. But I thought I might try for an alternate? McGonagall might allow it. After all, doesn't seem to be anyone else here, is there?"  
  
"They're probably just running late," Harry said, a bit defensively.  
  
Broderick shrugged. "At least this way, I get to check out the new blood. If they arrive. [I]When[/I] they arrive," he corrected, at a surly glance from Ron.  
  
"Well, alright," Harry said, forcing a resolute smile, "We might as well get up in the air and warm up a bit. Broderick, grab one of the school brooms and join us."  
  
Broderick's face split into a wide-eyed, charming grin. Katie and Ginny laughed under their breaths, as he raced off towards the broom rack.  
  
"He smiles just like Angelina!" Katie said cheerfully.  
  
"I know, isn't it cute?"  
  
Harry kicked off, and felt the crisp wind ruffling his hair, the morning sun beating gently on his cheek, singeing the last vestiges of mist away. There was something to be said for practicing in the morning, he noted. He let off a couple of loops, raced from one end of the field to the other, and did a couple Wronski Feints, just to get the feel of it again.  
  
"Oi – quit showing off!" Ron hollered with a grin.  
  
"Right!" Harry shouted, "Broderick – why don't you get the Quaffle out? Everyone form up."  
  
Harry watched surreptitiously, as Broderick flew down to the ground, and got the Quaffle from the trunk. He was a little wobbly getting on and off his broom, as it was hovering a bit high for him.  
  
"That's alright," Harry thought, "If he ever plays for us, he'll use his own broom from home, I'm sure he's got one..."  
  
He watched him fly back up with the Quaffle under his arm, and was relieved to see that he flew smoothly one-handed, though he couldn't get a sense for his speed or his cornering.  
  
They formed a hovering circle mid-air, and began to practice passing. Ron had evidently been practicing over the summer. Harry noticed more than before that his shoulders were a bit beefier, and it showed in his passing – much faster, stronger, and more accurate. Ginny on the other hand, was having a little difficulty making the transition from Seeker. She was great at catching, and threw accurately, but her passes were weak and slow.  
  
"It's her build," Harry thought pensively, "Mite too small for a Chaser, really." He jerked his head over to Katie as he realized he was staring. Katie passed to Broderick, and Harry nodded – she was solid, as ever, and a nice catch by Broderick.  
  
Broderick grinned, and motioned for Harry to move back. Raising an eyebrow, Harry obliged.  
  
Broderick wound way back, and as he threw, his left leg kicked up and hit into the back of the school broom, allowing his whole frame to twist on the spot – as a result, the throw was twice as powerful – the Quaffle nearly knocked Harry off his broom when he caught it. It looked more like a throw that a discus player would use, than anything else.  
  
"Woah!" shouted Ron, "That was wicked!"  
  
"Thanks!" Broderick said, grinning smugly, "It's my own move. Haven't named it yet."  
  
Harry smiled, though he felt a little uneasy. This kid was good, no doubt, but he was a little smug. He'd have to put him through his paces a bit. He lobbed the Quaffle to Sloper, who attempted to bat it in Kirke's direction, but wound up aiming straight for Katie's head. True to form, she snagged it with one arm, and somersaulted backwards on her broom.  
  
"Here you go," she said tossing it back to him. Her tone was light, but Harry could tell she had been hoping they'd be a bit more improved over the summer. Poor Jack was bright red.  
  
"Sorry," he said, fumphering to catch the Quaffle and still hold on to his bat, and his broom. He lobbed it back to Harry. "Have another go?"  
  
"Sure," Harry said, "Try to get a volley going between you two."  
  
He lobbed the Quaffle again, and this time Sloper managed to wallop it directly at Kirke. It hit him square in the head, and he slipped sideways off his broom. The whole team gasped and shot forward a few feet, but Kirke had managed to hang on.  
  
"See?" he said feebly, "Been working on my Sloth Grip Roll!"  
  
"I think you're meant to go all the way around," Broderick said, grinning. Harry scowled a bit. It was time to see what this kid could really do.  
  
"Alright...let's divvy up. Ron, you Keep. Ginny, Katie – you defend, for now. Sloper, Kirke? Broderick and I are going to try to score – you stop us with the Bludgers. Oh, err, would you go release them?"  
  
"Sure!" Kirke said, flying in a crooked line down to the chest.  
  
"Bludgers loose!" he hollered, and everybody turned to watch them being released, to ensure they weren't Bludgered straight off the bat.  
  
"Alright!" Harry shouted, "Let's play some Quidditch!"  
  
Ginny tossed the Quaffle to Harry, having retrieved it from the pitch, and Harry instantly chucked it at Broderick. He was caught a bit off guard, and wobbled a bit when he caught it, his eyes widening in surprise. Harry gave him a wink, and Broderick smiled that familiar, toothy grin. They wove in and out, Ginny and Katie doing an excellent job of getting in their way. Broderick passed to Harry, and Ginny shot through, seizing the Quaffle in mid-air.  
  
"That's alright," Harry shouted to Broderick, "It was a good throw. Nice intercept, Ginny."  
  
"I know," she said flashing him a smile. He knew exactly how she felt. Practicing in your back yard was one thing, and he hadn't even had that – to be out above the pitch with your teammates was something else entirely. The shocking thought suddenly occurred to him that he only had one more year after this to play Quidditch.  
  
It was even more shocking when the Quaffle suddenly diverted his attention. It was only thanks to his quick reflexes that he caught it, and as it was, the force of Broderick's pass spun him neatly around on his broom. Broderick gave him a wicked grin, and flashed his eyebrows a couple times. Harry nodded.  
  
"Good one! Alright, I'm going to pass to you, and you try to score."  
  
He chucked the Quaffle over, and stopped midair to watch. Broderick feinted a couple times and blew past Ginny...nice broomwork there. But Katie was wise to him, and it didn't work the second time. He had to whip the Quaffle behind his back to keep her from grabbing it. Leaning back on the broom, he almost capsized, but suddenly went into a dive, diagonally. Katie was hot on his heels, but she had to dodge away from one of Sloper's ill-timed Bludgers.  
  
"Sorry!" he shouted miserably.  
  
Broderick cornered neatly, quickly gained height, and reared his arm back for the shot.  
  
"Come on, Ron," Harry muttered between gritted teeth.  
  
Broderick did his patented move again, whipping the Quaffle full-tilt at the center hoop. Ron was just barely able to stretch his hand out in time, but again, the force of the throw spun him over on his broom, and his leg slammed into the hoop. He dangled from the broom by one hand for a moment, the Quaffle clasped to his chest with the other arm. Then, with a few small swings, he kicked back up onto his broom, red-faced and laughing.  
  
"Whoof!" he said, "That's some throw!"  
  
"You alright, Ron?" Harry hollered, grinning like a Cheshire cat. What an arm!  
  
"Just a bruise," Ron hollered, as he tossed the Quaffle back to Broderick.  
  
Harry heard a small "Uhm?" from the Quidditch pitch, and realized with a little jolt of panic that this wasn't just for fun, that he had a job to do. He scanned the pitch until he found—  
  
"[I]Neville??[/I]"  
  
"Hi, Harry!" Neville said, waving shyly. He was clutching what seemed to be a positively ancient broom...An original Comet, from the look of it. Using the school broom would actually be an improvement.  
  
Harry glided to a landing height, and hopped neatly off his Firebolt, which hovered, waiting for him.  
  
"You're...you're not...trying out?"  
  
"Well," Neville said, blushing furiously, "You mentioned...that is...after the train? I thought 'I might as well'..."  
  
"Ohhhhh...that's right, I did, didn't I...Well, [I]great![/I]" Harry said, a little overenthusiastically, "Hop on! Let's see what you can do!"  
  
Harry lept onto his broom, and returned to the game.  
  
"Oi!" he hollered, and the action ground to a halt, Kirke grabbing the Bludger and holding it to his chest as it struggled. Katie adopted a despairing expression as she saw Neville winding his wobbly way up to meet them, and Ginny's eyes went wide. Ron's jaw had dropped.  
  
"Right!" Harry said cheerfully, "Err, this is Neville...Same as before. Ginny and Katie defending, Sloper and Kirke Beating...Broderick, you and Neville pass it back and forth a few times...then give the Quaffle to Neville...Neville, you take the shot – I'll watch."  
  
Harry floated up above them, where he could get a clearer view of the action.  
  
"Ready?" he hollered, "Go!"  
  
Kirke released the Bludger, and straightaway pelted it at Neville, who anxiously wrenched his broom out of the way. The knobbly old thing shuddered, and seemed to take an age to move anywhere. Not to mention Neville looked very ill-seated, and had difficulty steering one-handed.  
  
"Here!" Broderick shouted.  
  
Neville reared back his arm, and threw a perfect pass to Broderick. Harry's eyes nearly jumped out of his head. When had Neville gotten good at Quidditch?  
  
As soon as the Quaffle had left his hands, however, he fell forward slightly, gripping the broom with both hands, urging it forward. He was not a confident flyer at all, Harry had to admit. That would take a lot of work. And he seemed to be doing far too much of the work with his hands, and not using his body weight nearly enough. Broderick was literally flying circles around him, waiting for a chance to pass it back. Ginny and Katie seemed to be going a bit easy on them.  
  
Finally, Broderick got impatient and bellowed, "You're open! Catch!"  
  
He flung the Quaffle at Neville, and to Harry's amazement, he caught it –  
  
-- with both hands. He then let out a loud "OOT!" of dismay, and abruptly seized the broom handle, nearly dropping the Quaffle in the process. Harry groaned, and rubbed his forehead. Neville trundled up to the center hoop, ducked as another Bludger whizzed by him (well at least Kirke is improving, Harry remarked mentally) and seemed to take forever to line up his shot.  
  
Finally, he reached back, and threw what Harry had to admit was a rather decent shot. It would have been fine, had he not taken an hour to prepare it...Ron knew exactly where it was going, for he'd already moved to the top right corner of the hoop, but Harry was surprised to see him flail wildly and miss. The shot went in. Neville turned on his broom, beaming, and gave Harry a thumbs-up.  
  
Harry returned the gesture. "Nice work, Neville! Err, Ron? That was..."  
  
But Ron was giving him an odd look, darting his eyes to Neville and back. Suddenly Harry got it.  
  
"Well, you did your best," Harry said quickly, "Try to keep your eye on the Quaffle though."  
  
"Right. Sorry," Ron said, frowning seriously, but he winked when Neville's back had turned.  
  
They played a little while longer, and Harry was gratified to see that Sloper and Kirke's aim had improved a bit since the beginning of practice – maybe they just needed more warm-up than most. Neville's flying, on the other hand, remained abysmal, but his shots were always clean and accurate. Broderick was indeed, a very strong Quidditch player, all around, but he tired quickly – by the end of tryouts, his shots were going a bit wild in his fatigue. Ginny had a similar problem, her throws getting gradually weaker.  
  
"That'll fix though, with more practice," Harry noted mentally, and then had to remind himself that Broderick wouldn't be allowed on the team.  
  
"Oh no," he thought with alarm, "And that means..."  
  
"Harry?" Katie called, "We'd better call it quits...we've run over a bit." Indeed, there were some people in Hufflepuff uniforms watching from the stands. Harry was a bit embarrassed – if he'd known another team was going to be there, he would have hoped for a few more people, besides Neville and a first-year.  
  
"Alright," he shouted, more confidently than he felt, "Well done! Hit the showers."  
  
He floated down to the pitch, and walked towards the locker room, hopping off his broom without breaking his stride.  
  
"Potter!"  
  
It was Zacharias Smith.  
  
"Zack! Hi," Harry said amiably.  
  
Zacharias came jogging over, carrying his broom. He leaned in confidentially.  
  
"So, how'd it go?"  
  
"Eh...alright," Harry said guardedly, "You know how it is. First practice after summer and all that."  
  
"Ah, good, good," Zacharias said, and Harry noticed his normally sonorous voice sounded a little tense, "That new kid...Brody? Brian?"  
  
"Broderick Johnson, yeah – he's Angelina's little brother."  
  
"Ah, right. You [I]do[/I] know," Zacharias said, eyeing Harry suspiciously, "that he's a first-year?"  
  
"Relax, Zack," Harry said, "He's just trying out as an alternate. I'm going to run it by McGonagall first thing Monday."  
  
"Ah, very well then," Zacharias said coolly, "Just checking." And he mounted his broom and kicked off.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. He hadn't even asked about the D.A. meetings. Nope, just wanted to make sure Harry wasn't cheating at Quidditch. He wondered vaguely whether he'd been made captain, or whether he was still just Chasing. On the other hand, he reflected with a grin, he wouldn't have bothered to remind him unless Broderick had him running scared.  
  
Harry heard the Hufflepuffs shouting to each other, and the dull thwack of the Quaffle being passed around as he walked towards the showers, broom in hand. He rotated his shoulder a bit, and was annoyed to find that he was quite stiff – it'd take about a good solid week of training until his body was able to stand a full practice without complaint.  
  
He was about to enter the locker rooms, when he heard someone's voice coming from beneath the bleachers...  
  
"Please – stop it!"  
  
His ears perked up...it sounded like Hermione... 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

"Please – stop it!"  
  
It was definitely Hermione, and she sounded really upset.  
  
"Come on, Granger...you know you want to. You can't resist me for long. Just tell me. "  
  
"That's Malfoy!" Harry realized, and putting his back to the wall of the archway, he leaned around the corner to see what was going on.  
  
"I – I don't w-want to tell you!" Hermione forced out contemptuously. It sounded like she was having trouble speaking, somehow. Harry felt really uncomfortable – was he hearing something he shouldn't be hearing? It sounded like Hermione might be in trouble, but then again, maybe he shouldn't interfere – she'd gotten really mad at Ron the last time he'd stepped between her and Draco. And she did say that he had a "saving people thing..."  
  
A nauseating thought occurred to him – what on Earth was Hermione doing under the bleachers, with Draco Malfoy, alone? Had she lost her mind?  
  
"Well, that's [I]true[/I] enough," came Draco's oily sneer, "But you won't be able to avoid me for long."  
  
Harry stepped away from the wall, and sneaking closer to the bleachers, put his ear close to the fluttering tarp so he could hear better. The sides of the bleachers were covered with a red and gold fabric bearing the Gryffindor seal that had been stretched taut, and was supposed to be tied to bolts in the woodwork, but Harry could see that someone had unlaced the bottom corner, and ducked underneath. In the small gap, Harry could just dimly make out Hermione's bushy hair. She had one of her arms pressed up against the wooden framework at an odd angle...but where was Draco?  
  
"Is it Weasley, then?" Malfoy hissed, "It's him, isn't it?"  
  
"Nnnnn....nnnnNo."  
  
"Then who is it? I know you know! [I]Tell me[/I], you filthy little Mudblood, is it you?"  
  
"I already told you," Hermione sobbed, "It's not me!"  
  
Suddenly, Harry realized with a sinking feeling what Draco was asking about, and he grabbed the edge of the fabric and heaved, snapping several more of the ties.  
  
"Then who!" Draco yelled, and Harry saw Hermione's hair jerk roughly to one side as she was slapped by an invisible hand...he noticed the wooden framework in front of her seemed to bend and distort – he could just make out Draco's outline.  
  
"Tell me! [I]Who is Harry Potter's Secret Keeper?![/I]"  
  
But Harry had arrived, ducking under the red and gold fabric. He struggled to climb through the criss-crossed structural support of the bleachers, and get his wand out from beneath his Quidditch gear at the same time.  
  
"[I]Draco![/I]" he shouted, "Leave her alone!"  
  
"Harry!" cried Hermione, "Harry, he's Disillusioned!"  
  
Harry finally had freed his wand, but the woodwork in front of him was distorting and bending as though seen through a bead of water—  
  
-- Stars and colors flashed before his eyes, and before he knew what had happened, he was tumbling to the ground, his head bursting with pain.  
  
"[I]RON![/I]" screamed Hermione, "HELP! [I]SOMEONE HELP![/I]"  
  
Harry heard a loud smacking noise, and Hermione's shrieking was muffled, as though someone had a hand over her mouth. Suddenly there came a quiet "pop" and a sickening squelch, and Draco Malfoy let out a screech of agony.  
  
Harry lifted his head, and through the haze, saw Draco's invisible arm spattered with the blood dripping from his bitten hand. Hermione was spitting and retching on the ground.  
  
Harry lifted his wand, and aimed it at the place he knew Draco had to be.  
  
"[I]STUPEFY![/I]"  
  
He heard a loud thunk, and some dust fell from the bleachers above them – Draco must have fallen against a support. Harry heard the commotion of voices – the flap was pulled back, and he could hear the sound of shoes scraping against the dirt.  
  
"[I]Hermione![/I]" shouted Ron, "[I]Harry![/I]"  
  
"Ron!" bawled Hermione, and Harry saw two Rons kneel down and gather up two sobbing Hermiones. Several other people wearing shin-guards were walking towards him.  
  
"Ah, good," Harry thought. And he allowed himself to black out.  
  
"[I]ENNERVATE![/I]"  
  
Harry found his head was still splitting, and he could feel the coarse dirt under his cheek. He could taste grit and blood in his mouth, and his tongue felt three sizes too large. He realized he must have bit his tongue when Draco hit him over the head.  
  
He moaned groggily, and sat up. He opened his eyes to see Professor McGonagall's white face, peering into his, her lips a taut line. Sloper, Kirke, and one of the Hufflepuff Beaters were holding on to the now visible Malfoy, who sulked with a reddening bandage around his hand. Ron was sitting in the same place with Hermione as she sobbed and sobbed onto his shoulder. Harry felt his stomach wrench – Hermione never let anyone see her cry that way. Ginny was holding up the red and gold fabric, and Harry could see a hushed crowd of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Quidditch players congregated over in the alley between the bleachers and the locker room arch, peering in at them.  
  
"What – happened," McGonagall snapped through gritted teeth, panic and fury fighting for dominance in her voice.  
  
"Draco," Harry said, feeling like he was speaking in slow motion, "Heard him...and Hermione...asking..."  
  
The world seemed to be spinning again. McGonagall put a hand on the back of his neck and held his head up for him.  
  
"Alright, Potter, it's alright."  
  
She wheeled around at the frightened Quidditch players gathered near the archway. "[I]MOVE![/I]"  
  
They scrambled out of the way.  
  
"Potter, can you walk?"  
  
"Sure," Harry said, "Sure." He struggled to get up, and he felt as though his head would split in two.  
  
McGonagall knelt down, and struggled to lift him. The Hufflepuff beater hurried over and grabbed his other side. Between the two of them, they managed to get Harry out from under the bleachers, followed by Ron with Hermione, and Sloper and Kirke with Malfoy.  
  
Harry saw Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey, Snape, and Lupin running across the Quidditch pitch, followed closely by Neville.  
  
"Harry!" shouted Lupin, "Harry, are you alright? Where's Hermione? Where's Ron?"  
  
"We're right here," Harry heard Ron say from behind him, "We're alright."  
  
"Set him down. Set him down!" Madame Pomfrey ordered, and Harry felt his knees give under him as McGonagall and the Hufflepuff boy lowered him to the grassy turf.  
  
"[I]Lumos![/I]"  
  
Madame Pomfrey was shining the light from her wand in his eyes, and he closed them tight, his head pounding.  
  
"Open," she barked. Finally, she put her wand down, and half-blinded, Harry blinked owlishly as she held up a finger and moved it back and forth in front of his face.  
  
"Follow with your eyes – no, don't turn your head," she ordered brusquely.  
  
"Harry," Lupin said, kneeling down next to him, worry etched deeply into the lines on his brow, "Harry, what—"  
  
"When I'm through, Remus!" barked Madame Pomfrey. She gave a tricky little flick of her wand and aimed it at the growing lump on Harry's head.  
  
"[I]Glacius![/I]"  
  
Harry suddenly felt a soothing coolness pressing wetly on his head.  
  
"Your mouth is bleeding," Madame Pomfrey said, "Say 'Ah.'"  
  
"Mr. Weasley. Can [I]you[/I] tell us what happened?" McGonagall asked.  
  
"Give them a moment, Minerva," Dumbledore said in his soothing bass. Harry couldn't see around Madame Pomfrey's head, but it sounded as though Ron and Hermione had seated themselves a few feet away from him. He could see Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, scowling at the turf while Sloper and Kirke stood over him.  
  
"I can, sir" came Hermione's trembling voice, "I'm still under the influence of the Veritaserum."  
  
"What?!" McGonagall sounded as though she was either going to faint or expell somebody.  
  
"Please, Professor...before it wears off."  
  
"Are you sure you feel able, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked gently. Harry tried to peek around Madame Pomfrey's head to check on Hermione, but she jerked his head back over by the chin.  
  
"Swish with this, and spit a few times," she commanded. Harry took a mouthful of the potion and found it tasted like moldy oranges and stung his tongue. He spat it out, and Madame Pomfrey forced him to take another swig.  
  
"Yes, sir," Hermione said, her voice regaining some of its old sound, "I'd gone to watch Harry and Ron practice – Ron and I had a row the other day, and I wanted to make him feel guilty so he'd apologize."  
  
Harry felt a little embarrassed for Hermione – after all, the Veritaserum would force her to be totally honest.  
  
"I got there late and they were already nearly done with practice. I sat on the lower level of the Gryffindor bleachers, watching. There were only two people on the Hufflepuff bleachers, across and down the field from me, and they were watching the game also. I heard someone behind me whisper the Silencing spell. I tried to ask who was there, but I found I couldn't speak. I was about to stand up, but..."  
  
Her voice trailed off, and she took a shaky breath.  
  
"Someone pulled me from behind, by my clothing. I felt the bleachers digging into my back. I tried to scream..."  
  
Hermione's voice was trembling. Harry felt furious. Somebody had to stop this. It wasn't right.  
  
"Headmaster," said Lupin, "We should really do this—"  
  
"I can keep going," Hermione interrupted hurriedly, "I felt somebody grab me around the neck and shoulders...they pushed me down sideways, and pulled me through the gap in the bleachers. I fell on the ground, hard...I think I hurt my hip and my shoulder a bit. I couldn't see who it was, because they had a Disillusionment charm on them, but I could tell it was Malfoy from the smell of his hair potion – he always uses Sleakeazy's..."  
  
"And is it not possible, Miss Granger," came Severus's oily voice, "That there was some other reason you were under the bleachers?"  
  
"What are you suggesting, Severus?" said Lupin. Harry could hear the threat in his dangerously calm voice.  
  
"I have no intention of calling into question Miss Granger's character," Snape said slickly, "I only mean to suggest that Miss Granger may have arranged to meet Malfoy...or she may have confronted him and gotten involved in some argument..."  
  
"We found this on the ground," Ron said angrily. Madame Pomfrey leaned over to fish around in her bag, and Harry could see around her that Ron was holding up a small blue bottle to Snape, his ears burning red.  
  
"I think she's telling the truth," he glared.  
  
Madame Pomfrey blocked his view again, as she began painfully dabbing the lump on his head with cotton balls.  
  
"That could be any kind of potion," Snape said, "We have to test it to be sure. Miss Granger – please tell us your name and your house."  
  
"Hermione Granger, Gryffindor."  
  
"Are your parents Wizards or Muggles?"  
  
"Muggles," Hermione said.  
  
"And tell me," Snape continued silkily, "Did you, or any of your friends steal Boomslang skin from my cupboard of private ingredients in your second year?"  
  
"Severus, really!" Professor McGonagall reprimanded, "You don't need to answer that, Miss Granger."  
  
"Headmaster, what happened three years ago is over and done with," Snape said, as though this were a waste of time, "But I must ask something that Miss Granger would otherwise lie about in order to determine whether she is still under the influence of the Veritaserum."  
  
"You can test the bottle later, Severus," Dumbledore said, "For now, I think—"  
  
"Yes," Hermione said, ashamed, "Yes. I - We did."  
  
"Ah," Snape said, and Harry noted with disgust the slight smugness in Snape's voice, "Very well, Miss Granger, continue."  
  
"He picked me up and pushed me against the bleachers," Hermione said, "I went for my wand, but he grabbed my wrists and held them over my head. I think I sprained them trying to get away."  
  
Harry felt his hands shaking, and he realized he'd clenched them into fists.  
  
"He told me he had some questions he wanted to ask me, and that if I called for help, he'd hex me. He took the Silencing Charm off, and I told him it would be a cold day in hell before I told him anything. He told me he'd been expecting me to say something like that, and he reached into his robes and took out that blue bottle. I closed my mouth, and tried to turn my head away, but he held my nose until I had to breathe. I spat it out, but it only takes a few drops to work. He asked me where Harry Potter lived. I told him I didn't know, and that even if I did, I would never tell him. He figured that if I really didn't know, it had to mean that Harry had a Secret Keeper. I – I begged him to stop..."  
  
Hermione's voice cracked, and she stopped for a moment.  
  
"He asked me who it was. I told him I didn't want to tell him, which was the truth, but it was getting harder and harder to resist. He asked if it was Ron—"  
  
"Stop," Lupin interrupted hurriedly, and Harry noted the edge of panic in his voice, "That's enough, Hermione."  
  
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, and he paused a moment. "Did you, at any point, name someone as being Harry Potter's Secret Keeper?" Dumbledore asked carefully.  
  
It seemed everyone was holding their breath. Harry looked over to his right, and saw Neville standing at the edge of the crowd, white-faced, clutching his hands together.  
  
"No," Hermione said, "I didn't name anyone...Harry arrived before I could answer."  
  
"And did you, in fact, tell Mr. Malfoy whether Harry had a Secret Keeper or not? Or did he just assume?"  
  
"He just assumed," Hermione said, "I never told him Harry Potter had a Secret Keeper."  
  
Harry risked darting another glance at Neville. They made eye contact, and they shared a brief look of mingled horror and relief.  
  
Suddenly, Draco looked up from the ground and glared at Harry. Harry snapped his eyes away from Neville and met Draco's as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he glanced at Neville before he returning his scowl to the ground. Harry thought he saw some of his signature sneer return.  
  
"He knows," a panicked voice in Harry's head whined, "He knows." He wanted to make eye contact with Neville again, to warn him, but he didn't dare risk it. Madame Pomfrey had packed up her bag, and moved over to Hermione's side.  
  
"What happened then, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked firmly.  
  
"Harry told him to stop. I warned Harry that Malfoy had the Disillusionment charm on him. I think Draco hit Harry over the head. He fell to the ground. I tried to call for help, but Draco covered my mouth. I bit him," she said strongly, hatred and disgust contorting her face, "I bit his hand really hard. I could taste his blood in my mouth...his [I]pure[/I] blood."  
  
Snape wrinkled his nose uncomfortably at Malfoy's reddening bandage. "Serves him right," Harry thought fiercely.  
  
"He started screaming. He backed away, and I tried to spit the blood out – it made me gag a few times. Harry must have been able to tell where he was, because he called out the Stunning spell. That's when Ron and the rest arrived. I told them to find Malfoy...and they cancelled the Disillusionment spell. He woke up a few seconds later, but Sloper and Kirke already had him. Harry wouldn't wake up, though, so Ginny told Neville to go for help. And the rest you know," Hermione finished, exhausted.  
  
She shuddered, and hung her head. Madame Pomfrey reached into her bag, and took out a small vial.  
  
"Here you are Miss Granger. The Draught of Peace. Calm your nerves, and then I'll take you to the hospital wing, but first, let me give you a once- over. Where does it hurt most?"  
  
Hermione swallowed the Draught of Peace, and sighed deeply, handing it back to Madame Pomfrey.  
  
"My back," she said calmly.  
  
"Hold down your front," Madame Pomfrey ordered, and she carefully rolled up the back of Hermione's shirt. Several of them gasped.  
  
There was a thick, deep red mark making a diagonal line across Hermione's lower back, with another bruise blooming above her hip bone.  
  
"Contusions seem to match the description," Madame Pomfrey said, tracing a finger over Hermione's back, and Harry noticed a tiny Quickquill was jotting notes in a small log book that had jumped out of her bag.  
  
"A long, red mark, approximately fourteen centimetres long, possible fracture in the right floating rib...That was probably the bleacher...a few scrapes here, and another bruise above the right ilium...plus the dirt on her right side – that's where she hit the ground. A lot of force was exercised here," she added, glaring at Malfoy above her glasses, who continued to scowl at the ground. "You said your wrists were sprained?"  
  
Hermione nodded, and Madame Pomfrey took her hands, and began to gently move them up and down. Hermione winced a few times.  
  
"Wiggle," she demanded, and Hermione wiggled her fingers.  
  
"Finger-shaped contusions in the wrists, fracture unlikely, but definitely a sprain. [I]Petrificus Carpi[/I]" she added, and Hermione's wrists went stiff.  
  
"Well! What do you have to say for yourself, Malfoy?" Lupin demanded, grinding his teeth, "What's your brilliant defense?"  
  
"Oh, don't worry, Professor Lupin," Severus Snape said casually, looking down his hooked nose at Malfoy, "I will be taking his statement personally. And if everything is corroborated, as I'm sure it will be, I will see to it that he is appropriately...punished."  
  
From the tone of Snape's voice, Harry felt quite sure Malfoy wasn't going to enjoy what Snape had in store. Harry was forcibly reminded of a teenage Snape, being struck by that dark, angry man, diverting the blows from his mother...Harry had a feeling Snape wasn't going to be too lenient on a student who was beating up a girl, even if it was Malfoy.  
  
Suddenly, though, the awful thought occurred to him – what if Snape had put Malfoy up to it? What if he was being punished because he failed to figure out who the Secret Keeper was? Harry turned to Dumbledore mentally pleading for him to catch his eye. But he must not have noticed.  
  
"Come with me, Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey said, closing her bag with a snap, "We'll get a full report in the hospital wing." Dumbledore politely offered her a hand, and she stood stiffly, brushing the grass from her robes, as Ron helped Hermione to her feet.  
  
"Wait," Harry said, "I'm coming too." He tried to get up, but found he was a little dizzy yet. Lupin walked over, and wordlessly gave Harry his arm. As Harry wobbled after them, he made fleeting eye contact with Dumbledore again.  
  
"Rest, Harry." He heard Dumbledore's voice as though he were whispering in his ear: "The Order will sort this out. I'll contact you."  
  
Harry nodded, and closed his eyes, stumbling slightly. Lupin quickly caught Harry, and slung Harry's arm over his shoulders. Harry could see the dirt covering the right side of Hermione's clothing as she and Ron followed behind Madame Pomfrey, and he burned with anger.  
  
"He's dead," he said quietly, "A dead man. I'll kill him."  
  
Lupin said nothing, but Harry knew the furrow in his brow meant he was worried.  
  
"I'm not kidding," Harry said, "They'd better put him in Azkaban, or I'm going kill him myself."  
  
"I believe you, Harry," Lupin said, "Try just to relax for now. You were very brave...you've done enough for one day."  
  
Harry felt the anger start to melt away, but in its place came churning, bubbling guilt.  
  
"It's my fault," the nasty refrain began in his head, "It's all my fault. I put Sirius in danger, Ron's house, now Hermione...I'm going to get us all killed. Everything I touch...Everyone I care about..."  
  
He hung his head, and squinted his eyes shut against the painful throbbing of the lump on his head. 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

When they finally made it to the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey and Ron settled Hermione on the nearest bed. She drew the curtain around with a sharp metallic rustle, and Ron was abruptly shooed out.  
  
He stood awkwardly by the curtain with his hands in his pockets, Madame Pomfrey droning quietly to her Quickquill about contusions and abrasions. Finally, he shuffled over to where Harry and Lupin were sitting.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ron said, "I'm so sorry!"  
  
"What? Why?" Harry asked, bewildered. Ron mopped his face with his hand, just like Harry had seen Mr. Weasley do when he was upset.  
  
"If I'd just been earlier...just a few seconds sooner...I thought I heard someone call for me, I did, but –"  
  
"There's no need to blame yourself," Lupin said quietly, "Or you, Harry. You both did very well today. This...this is what He does. Divides people against themselves and against each other, exploits our closest bonds...it's always been His way."  
  
"You mean...Voldemort?" Harry whispered. He wasn't sure if Madame Pomfrey would brook this kind of conversation, "You think He was behind this?"  
  
"No," Lupin said, frowning, "Not directly. But I don't think Malfoy just has a casual interest in knowing who your Secret Keeper is. He's making himself valuable," he said scornfully, "Proving himself to his father, no doubt."  
  
"Moony!" Harry whispered urgently, "He knows! Malfoy! I was looking at Neville, and he caught me."  
  
Lupin seemed alarmed, and Ron went a bit pale.  
  
"We'll have to tell Dumbledore immediately," he said, "Snape's got him now...there's no way Malfoy can get word to anybody...and by the time he does, we'll be sure you've switched to someone else."  
  
"Somehow, the fact that Snape's 'got him' isn't exactly reassuring," Harry said darkly.  
  
"How do you mean?" Ron asked.  
  
"I don't half wonder if he put Malfoy up to it," Harry said angrily. It seemed every time one of his friends was hurt, Snape was somehow vaguely involved, or at least unable to prevent it.  
  
"Harry," Lupin said, rubbing his brow tiredly, "We all know how you and Professor Snape get on. Believe me, I hate him just as much as you do. Don't repeat that, by the way," he added, glancing over at the closed curtain, "He's a cantankerous old bat, and no mistake, but he's not evil."  
  
Harry sighed frustratedly, "Well, why do you hate each other so much, then? I mean, besides the obvious...What ever made you [I]start[/I] to hate each other in the first place? It seems that now you hate each other just because...you hate each other."  
  
Ron chuckled dryly, "How many reasons do you need? I kept a list in the margins of my Potions notebook, first year."  
  
"Well, he does make himself unlikeable," Lupin conceded, "But it's more than that. I don't know, Harry, how is it that you hate Malfoy so much?"  
  
"Because he's contemptible, bullying [I]pondscum,[/I]" Harry said venomously, "Because he's an evil, ambitious, snot-nosed—"  
  
"Alright, alright Harry. But turnaround is fair play. It seems that you hate each other because...you just do. Ever since you met."  
  
"He—!" Harry began to shout. He glanced at the curtain where Madame Pomfrey was doubtlessly administering some 'Knockabout's No-Hurt Numb Rub.' He recognized the minty smell from the Quidditch locker room – it was a favorite among Beaters.  
  
"He assaulted Hermione," he whispered through gritted teeth, "He's jinxed us a hundred times over, at least..."  
  
"Well, true. But didn't you ever rough him up a bit, or try to hex him? I'm not saying it's the same," Lupin said, holding up his hands at Harry's look of outrage, "It's not. What he did was wrong, and no one' s excusing it. But you've always disliked each other...It's simply...well, there you have it. Some people just don't get along. Of course," Lupin added darkly, "With Snape and I, there's some older reasons we get along so well...that have very little to do with us specifically..." He trailed off.  
  
"Guess that's why you get along like cats and wolves?" Ron added with a wry grin.  
  
Lupin looked at Ron with wide-eyes, as though he'd said something very startling. A second later he grinned though, and shook his head, as though dismissing it.  
  
"Exactly," he said, "Cats and wolves."  
  
Harry wrinkled his brow. What was Lupin hiding? Surely the whole school knew he was a werewolf by now, he had to be used to hearing it...Did Snape hate werewolves or something? It was possible...Umbridge had hated centaurs and werewolves for no good reason...Come to think of it, it seemed similar to the kind of Pureblood nonsense Snape was likely to favor anyway...  
  
"Drop it, Harry," Lupin said gently, noting his puzzled expression, "Just old family stuff. I'd rather not talk about it."  
  
"All through!" Madame Pomfrey shouted, as she snapped the curtain open. She walked briskly to Harry's side, and began sorting through his hair again, prodding painfully at his lump.  
  
Hermione was settled comfortably, and she did look calmer, though a bit sad.  
  
"I'm really sorry—" she began, but Harry and Ron grinned, and waved her off.  
  
"We've already done all that," Ron said, "Turns out, to our great amazement, none of us are to blame."  
  
"No, I mean for fighting the other day. It was stupid, I should have—"  
  
"I already said, don't worry about it," Ron said with a smile, which quickly darkened, "The only person I'm mad at is Malfoy."  
  
"I hear that," Harry said, "Ouch!" Madame Pomfrey had given him a particularly painful prod.  
  
"Well, you got lucky Mr. Potter, it seems you don't have a concussion," Madame Pomfrey said, "I'd like it if you didn't go to sleep until after midnight tonight, though. Mr. Weasley, you can keep an eye on him. And if I find you back in my Infirmary tonight, fresh from a duel with Draco Malfoy, for the love of Merlin—"  
  
"They won't, Poppy," Lupin said reassuringly.  
  
"Hmmph." Madame Pomfrey walked over to her desk and began muttering to her Quickquill again about the lump on Harry's head.  
  
"Boys," Lupin said, putting his arm around Harry's shoulders, "I know how upset you are...but you can't sink to his level. Let the Order handle it."  
  
"Let the Order handle it," Harry repeated sarcastically, and drew his shoulders in a bit so that Lupin took his arm away. There was an uncomfortable silence.  
  
"Well, I think I'd better go check in with Dumbledore and see what's happened," Lupin said, casually standing up, "I imagine Snape is finished with Malfoy by now...and you'll probably want to know what's happened. And I've got to warn Kingsley."  
  
"Kingsley?" Harry asked. If he couldn't help, he could at least stay in the loop.  
  
"Yes," Lupin said, frowning, "And Tonks. Lucius Malfoy will soon be hearing about all of this from Draco, no doubt, and he is not going to be in a pleasant mood. He might try to sneak into work again."  
  
"Sneak into work again!" cried Hermione, sitting up in bed, "You can't mean the Ministry? Has he before? How could he? He'd be arrested!" At a severe glance from Madame Pomfrey however, she settled back against the pillows.  
  
"I can't really say too much more. The Ministry..." Lupin sighed deeply. "Lucius has friends in the Ministry. High ranking friends. The Ministry really isn't what it used to be," he added darkly, "I don't know. Maybe it never was."  
  
Harry remembered his trial last year...the clink of gold in Lucius Malfoy's pocket when he had found him with Fudge in the corridor...  
  
"Well, I have [I]really[/I] said too much," Lupin said, "Madame Pomfrey, are they free to go?"  
  
"So long as they stay out of trouble."  
  
But as they were all heading towards the door, Draco Malfoy entered the room, steered by the shoulder by Professor Snape, who was sneering down his beaky nose at Malfoy.  
  
"Madame Pomfrey," Snape said, "You'd better have a look at Malfoy's hand. He was hit over the head as well."  
  
"Of course," Madame Pomfrey said civilly.  
  
"Excuse us," Lupin said, "We were just leaving."  
  
They all avoided each other's eyes as they left the room. But as Harry brushed by Draco, he glanced up, and met his smoldering scowl.  
  
"Hope it hurts," he muttered.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Potter, that will do," Snape said angrily. Harry forced a curt nod, and followed the rest of them into the hallway towards Dumbledore's office. When they reached the stone gargoyles, Lupin stopped, and turned to face them.  
  
"You three had best get back to your common room," Lupin said, "And Harry..."  
  
"What?" he thought, meeting Lupin's eye, "What should I do? How am I [I]supposed[/I] to behave?"  
  
Lupin sighed, "Just take care of each other. I'll see you class."  
  
Just as Lupin opened his mouth to speak the password, Cornelius Fudge himself rounded the corner, followed closely by Percy Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt.  
  
"Minister Fudge," Lupin said evenly, "I'm surprised to see you here. So soon."  
  
"Let it never be said the Ministry is ill-informed," Fudge said frostily, "No matter how hard you attempt to keep us in the dark here at Hogwarts!"  
  
"No one is trying to keep you in the dark, Minister," Lupin said evenly, "I was wondering actually, who was keeping you so up-to-date...Tell me, how is Lucius these days?"  
  
Fudge grinned snidely at Lupin, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Lucius Malfoy is an old friend, and I was as shocked as anyone when he was captured at the Ministry...I only hope that he is arrested soon, so that he can take the stand and defend himself properly. I've no doubt he was under the Imperius Curse, as before."  
  
"I'm sure," Lupin said quietly, "Regarding your fears about communications at Hogwarts, Minister, I think you'll find Hogwarts is an open book. In fact, as soon as I've finished meeting with Professor Dumbledore, he'll have a statement prepared for you."  
  
"Nonsense!" Fudge bellowed, "I'm tired of taking prepared statements from that old fool...Prepared lies, more like! I want to see him immediately, and I want the truth!"  
  
"And you shall have it," said Professor Dumbledore, as the stone wall before them slowly rotated, revealing Dumbledore standing on the last step of the spiral staircase. Kingsley's face was totally impassive, and he actually stepped forward to protect the Minister, until Fudge waved him off casually. Harry was impressed – Kingsley was quite a good actor...he and Dumbledore must have had dinner together a hundred times.  
  
"I have never told you anything but the truth," Dumbledore said politely, "Now. What is it that I can do for you, Cornelius?"  
  
"Minister Fudge, if you please, sir," Percy said bowing slightly, "No disrespect intended, Headmaster. Just want to keep things professional."  
  
"Of course, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said nodding politely, "Now, why are you all making such a fuss outside my office? Surely it would be more comfortable to make a fuss inside it."  
  
"That's what I said!" Fudge said, his face coloring slightly, as he pointed to Lupin, "But [I]he[/I] wouldn't let me in!" Harry was reminded of Dudley tattling on him when they were small.  
  
"I just wanted to meet with you briefly, Sir, in private," Lupin said, "It will only be a few minutes."  
  
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, "Well, I'm sure you understand, Minister Fudge. I can't give you the information you seek if I am not fully informed myself."  
  
"Why do you have to meet in private?" Minister Fudge bellowed, "What could you possibly be saying that I'm not meant to hear? I tell you Albus, my patience is wearing thin—"  
  
"[I]Professor[/I] Dumbledore," Ron interrupted suddenly. Harry saw he had his arms crossed over his chest, and was glaring at Percy, "Just want to keep things [I]professional,[/I] after all."  
  
"Stay out of this, Ron," Percy said, "I'll send you an owl later."  
  
"You needn't bother," Ron said, "As I won't be reading it."  
  
"Ah, of course," Minister Fudge said, eyeing Harry with a smug smirk, "Harry Potter and company. Why am I not surprised that you're at the heart of all this?"  
  
"I don't know, Minister," Harry said abruptly, "It stopped surprising me years ago."  
  
Lupin stifled a chuckle, and Harry caught the faintest glimmer in Dumbledore's eye.  
  
"Maybe it's time you three went to your common room?" Lupin asked, and Harry knew it was more than a suggestion. With a polite nod to the Minister, the three friends beat a hasty retreat. 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

The trio walked down the hallway together. For a while they stifled smug grins...if a picture is worth a thousand words, the look on Fudge's face was worth millions.  
  
The humor of the situation soon wore off, however, as they recalled the reality of what had just happened, back at the same Quiditch pitch they'd been visiting for six years. Harry knew now that it would never be exactly the same to walk through that arch again, and he hated Malfoy for it. The trio walked the rest of the way in silence, lost in thought.  
  
For some reason, Harry felt awkwardly unable to speak what was on his mind, and he could tell that Ron and Hermione felt the same – they had gone through so many trials and tribulations together, especially during the past few years...  
  
"Especially during the past few months," Harry reflected.  
  
But this...The range of Lord Voldemort's influence was getting closer and closer to home.  
  
They knew they had so much to talk about, so much to say to one another. But to say one word would mean a million had to follow, and to go through all that...It was better this way. To speak the fear would mean acknowledging it was there, and to mourn would only feel frighteningly redundant.  
  
"It's probably a bad sign," Harry told himself numbly, "that we're so used to disaster that we can't even talk about it anymore."  
  
They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.  
  
"Nebulus," Ron said dully.  
  
The portrait swung open, and Hermione was nearly knocked off her feet, as Ginny ran forward and threw her arms around her neck. She then moved on to Ron, and then Harry. He felt his head jerk down about two or three inches, as Ginny was quite a bit shorter than he. Her wiry arms were tight around his neck, just like Mrs. Weasley's. He patted her hair lamely while the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, accompanied by what looked like the entire Gryffindor house, pressed in upon them. Already the questions had started...  
  
"Are you alright? Katie just said you'd gotten into a fight..." "Was it really Malfoy?" "Did you go to the hospital wing?" "Hermione, are you hurt?" "Did Malfoy get expelled?" "Are you in trouble?"  
  
Harry glanced out of the corner of his eye, and saw Hermione smiling fixedly...but she was also hunching slightly, as though she could make herself smaller and hide.  
  
"Maybe we should talk about it later," Harry said firmly, "Besides, I'm sure the whole school will know in five minutes."  
  
There was a small chuckle at these words, and the crowd parted to let them pass.  
  
"I'm coming up with you two," Hermione muttered quietly.  
  
Harry nodded. Hermione would want to avoid the rumor mill for as long as possible. She'd didn't need to be interrogated twice in one day.  
  
They walked up the stairs, and stepped into the sixth year boys' dorm, where Neville was already waiting.  
  
"Are you alright?" Neville asked, wringing his hands, "I'm so sorry, Harry, I should have done more to help—"  
  
"It's alright, Neville," Harry said smiling, "You were the one who went for help, after all."  
  
"Harry," Neville said, his eyes round with fear, "Harry, I think he knows. I wasn't sure, but I thought—"  
  
Harry held up a cautionary hand, as Dean and Seamus came through the door, and shut it firmly behind them.  
  
"Ravenous wolves that lot," Dean said disgustedly, "'Oh, are you going to go talk to them? Find out what happened, will you?'"  
  
"Most of them are probably just worried," Harry said, "And everyone here loves a good story."  
  
"Mmm. Plus, they're all ready for a fight to the death with Slytherin. 'Take care of our own,' and all that," Dean added, "Sloper and Kirke vowed to knock Malfoy off his broom next match...whoever's flying next to him had better watch their back..."  
  
"Right," Seamus said, cracking his knuckles, "Now, don' let me talk you into it, but if you need someone to fong him up a bit..."  
  
He stopped himself and gawked in surprise at Hermione sitting with Ron and Harry on the edge of his bed.  
  
"Hang on," he said, "This is the boy's dormitory!"  
  
"Is it really?" Hermione said smiling weakly, "I was wondering what you were all doing here." Harry smiled...she seemed to be getting back to her old self.  
  
"But how come the staircase didn't go all..."  
  
"Girls are allowed up here, just not the other way 'round," Hermione explained, "It's old-fashioned, but there you are. I don't mean to be a bother, I was just hoping I could hide up here for a while. Parvati and Lavender would never leave me alone until I retold the whole thing. And then they'd make a fuss...I'd rather just..."  
  
Harry knew how she felt. There were plenty of things he'd rather forget.  
  
"Well, you don't have to tell us if you don't want to," Dean said politely, "And you can stay here as long as you want."  
  
"Thanks," Hermione said.  
  
There was a long silence in which Dean and Seamus busied themselves making their beds and throwing their laundry into their trunks, something that rarely occurred otherwise. Ron cast a guilty glance at the books and dirty socks littering the floor under his bed, but decided now was not the time. Neville was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking out the window, his hand in his robes pocket.  
  
Finally, Ron took a deep breath.  
  
"Alright," he said quietly, "Someone's got to say something. Hermione...Are you alright?"  
  
"Of course," Hermione said perfunctorily, staring at her knees. She looked up and saw the concerned disbelief in their faces.  
  
"Well, not really. But I will be. A bit shook up, that's all," she said with a fake little laugh.  
  
"Hermione," Harry said seriously, "This was my fault."  
  
"Harry! We can't keep blaming ourselves—"  
  
But he plowed on. It was killing him, but he had to get through it.  
  
"Look, even if it's not my fault directly, it's because of me. And...I'll understand if you want to keep clear of me for a while. I'll...I'll even understand if you don't want to be my friend anymore," he finished in a rush. He had to tell them.  
  
"Do you think that little of me?" Hermione said, "I'm not about to—"  
  
"Please take this seriously, Hermione," Harry said, a lump rising in his throat, "And that goes for you too, Ron, and you three, for that matter," he said, addressing the Gryffindor boys, "It's obvious by now that being my friend comes with a risk factor."  
  
The air in the room had gotten very heavy. Harry laughed weakly, "So, err...I wouldn't blame you if...It'd just be for a little while...that, or..."  
  
The lump had become a rock. He couldn't swallow.  
  
"Stop it," he thought severely, "Don't make this harder for them."  
  
"Or...forever," he said, "Because He won't stop. He can't stop...not until I'm dead."  
  
There was a long pause following this pronouncement, and Harry held his breath. He knew they would ask. He knew he couldn't say something like that and not explain.  
  
"Harry, I dunno," Ron said, "I mean, there does seem to be some connection between you and...You Know Who, but...it doesn't have to be this way...You're forgetting, it's not just you, you've got the whole Order—"  
  
But Hermione stepped on his foot. Dean and Seamus abruptly looked away, and having finished tidying up, began rearranging the things on their nightstands.  
  
"You've got the whole order of it backwards," Hermione covered smoothly, "We should be apologizing to you...for...making you worry."  
  
"You can't give up now," Ron said, "We've always come through before—"  
  
"You don't understand," Harry said, agonized. It was too late. He had to tell them about the prophecy. But if they knew it, they'd be just as tempting to Lord Voldemort as the prophecy itself had been...  
  
"But he's attacking them anyway," Harry thought, "They have a right to know."  
  
"Dean and Seamus are sitting just over there," he argued with himself, "How many people do you intend to take down with you?"  
  
He was jerked out of his reverie as Hermione put a cool hand on top of his.  
  
"Harry?" she asked, with her puzzled, knowing expression, "There's something you're not telling us." Harry knew that when her brow knit like that, she was going to find out eventually...she was going to force it out of him...  
  
"Yeah," Ron said apologetically, "Ever since the Ministry. We didn't want to say anything, but...if you want to tell us something..."  
  
He trailed off and then laughed helplessly.  
  
"How bad could it be, really? Can't get much worse!"  
  
"We ought to go," Neville said, standing abruptly. They all jumped a bit – they'd quite forgotten he'd been sitting there.  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, "No, you don't have to go. This is your room too, we're being rude—"  
  
"It's fine," Dean said, waving her off, "Take your time."  
  
"No really," Harry said, "You can stay—"  
  
"What," Seamus said, winking casually, "You think we've got nothin' better t'do than eavesdrop all day? Ruddy boring, you lot."  
  
"We'll keep them off your backs for a while," Dean said lightly, "See you at dinner."  
  
Neville gave Harry a little nod, and the door clicked softly shut behind them.  
  
"That was awkward," said Ron frankly.  
  
"I feel a bit embarrassed," Hermione said, looking at the closed door.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, seizing his chance, "I'll go see if I can catch them—"  
  
"No, Harry," Hermione said firmly, "We've known for a while that you're hiding something. At first, we didn't want to push you, because we wanted to give you time..."  
  
"Really," Harry said, feeling panicked, "Been having a nice little chat about me, have you?"  
  
"That's not going to work, Harry," Ron said firmly.  
  
"You can't keep pushing us out. It's not fair, you know." Harry thought the hurt in Hermione's voice might drive him mad. His eyes were stinging.  
  
"We're your best mates—"  
  
"– if you can't tell us, who can you tell?"  
  
"[I]You don't understand![/I]" Harry shouted, and he couldn't hold in the molten tears anymore, "I can't tell you [I]because[/I] you're my best friends! It's because I care about you two more than anyone else in the world!"  
  
A desperate panic was welling up in his chest. "I can't lose you! I can't! I've lost my parents, I've lost Sirius, and if I lose you, I might as well just hand myself over to Voldemort!"  
  
Harry could see Hermione was crying too, and even Ron had grit his jaw, and was staring fixedly at the floor with bright eyes.  
  
"I'd rather never see you again than—" Harry said, barely able to choke out the words, "Because I couldn't live with myself if—"  
  
The faces of all the people he'd killed flashed before his eyes...his parents, that old Muggle from his dream, Cedric, Sirius...all because of him. Tonks tumbling down the stone steps...Ginny lying still in the Chamber of Secrets...limping on a broken ankle in the Ministry... the bubble of blood bursting on Ron's lower lip... Hermione petrified in the hospital wing...surrounded by Dementors, unconscious...screaming for help under the bleachers...lying as though dead in the blue torch room at the Ministry...the Weasley house blazing into the night sky...His knees hit the floorboards with a dull thunk.  
  
"I wish I'd never come to Hogwarts!" he howled, breath ragged in his chest, "I wish I'd never opened that bloody letter! I should have stayed at the Dursleys my whole life! I'd never have m-met you...but...at l-least you'd be safe—"  
  
But he couldn't speak anymore. Hermione came down to the floor and pulled him into her grasp. He could feel her tears dripping down his collar. Ron crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I c-can't!" he cried over and over, "I c-can't lose you two!"  
  
"Harry," said Hermione, hiccupping, "We're all afraid! But we've got to stick together!"  
  
"But I can't protect you!" Harry said, gasping for air, as he mopped his face. His nose was running, and he knew he looked a mess. "I tried, I tried so hard to protect everyone, but I can't – He just keeps finding a way—!"  
  
"Come on, mate," Ron said in a strangled voice, "It's alright..."  
  
"Harry," Hermione said, wiping her face, "I know it seems like it sometimes, but it's not up to you to save the world!"  
  
Harry hung his head.  
  
"It is," he said quietly.  
  
"No, Harry, listen—"  
  
"It is up to me, Hermione. That's what I haven't told you."  
  
He took a deep shuddering breath.  
  
"There's a prophecy...The prophecy that He was after that night in the Ministry. And...I'm named in it. That's why it had both of our names on it. Mine and His."  
  
Hermione was looking at him wide-eyed and white-faced.  
  
"You mean that yellow orb thing?" Ron asked, and he nearly laughed in relief, "Harry, we smashed it – that one, and a hundred others. Look, if you're worried about that—"  
  
"You don't know what it said," Harry said.  
  
"None of us do," Hermione said slowly, "The only one who knows what it says now is the one who heard it first..."  
  
"It was Dumbledore," Harry said, "And he told me what it said."  
  
He paused.  
  
"And?" Ron asked.  
  
"If I tell you," Harry said, feeling the same dread rising up inside him...  
  
"Harry," Hermione asked, "How far would you go to save us? What would you be willing to do?"  
  
"Anything!" Harry said desperately, "Anything! If letting myself get killed by Lord Voldemort would keep you safe, I'd have done it a hundred times over..."  
  
"Exactly," Ron said, squeezing his shoulder. He couldn't meet Harry's eye, but looked over his shoulder instead, "Harry...I come from a big family...I've got a little sister I'd die for, and five older brothers...Five."  
  
He stopped, and tried to hold his breath.  
  
"And you makes six, Harry," he said, one tear running down his jaw, "You know I'd follow you anywhere."  
  
The trio sat there snuffling for a minute, and Hermione fished into her robes pocket and took out a dainty lace handkerchief. They all looked at it for a minute, and suddenly, Hermione burst out laughing. Harry couldn't help it...he and Ron started laughing too, gasping and wiping their noses with their hands.  
  
"I th-hink we're going to n-need a bigger one!" Hermione said, gasping for air between her laughter.  
  
"Even M-moaning Myrtle would be s-sick of us!" Ron said, wiping his face.  
  
Harry felt like he would never stop laughing. As long as they were together...as long as this lasted...  
  
"Look," Hermione said, "I think we've had enough for one day. Why don't we clean ourselves up a bit, and go to dinner. You know, make an appearance..."  
  
"Right," Ron said, "Let them see they haven't got to us."  
  
"They haven't?" Harry said, still giggling uncontrollably.  
  
"And late tonight, after everyone's gone, you can tell us everything," Hermione said.  
  
"What, here?" Harry said, "I think the guys might like their room back..."  
  
"No, the Room of Requirement," Hermione said, with fervor in her eye, "The D.A. meets [I]tonight.[/I]" 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

They took a minute to wash their faces and steel their nerve.  
  
Harry knew the Hogwarts rumor mill all too well – in first year, the whole school had shunned him when he and his friends nearly lost Gryffindor the House Cup for being out past curfew. Of course, he and his friends were the one who had one it back, but it had been enough to make his life difficult for a while. In his second year, nobody would talk to him because they had thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, the one releasing the basilisk on all the Muggle borns. Of course, they'd been wrong, but again, the suspicions was still more than enough to make his life difficult. In fourth year, when he'd been entered in the TriWizard tournament, nearly the whole school turned his back on him – the "Potter Stinks" badges flashed through his memory, and he scowled.  
  
And that was just the serious stuff. Rumors were always flying about him and his friends...his sanity, or lack thereof...him and Cho, him and Hermione...of course, Rita Skeeter had been no help, nor the Daily Prophet.  
  
He shook his head. He was used to it by now – he shouldn't let it get to him. By now, half the school trusted him implicitly, and the other half thought he was a menace...  
  
"Come to think of it," he realized, "That probably goes for the wizarding world at large."  
  
"Ready?" Ron asked, determinedly upbeat. He had just finished carefully mussing up his Quidditch hair. Harry grinned.  
  
"Ready."  
  
They went down the common room, where Hermione was waiting for them. Her head was stuck in a book, as usual, but it seemed to Harry that she was looking through the book more than reading it. He wondered how often she hid this way.  
  
"Ready to go?" Ron asked.  
  
"Hmm? Of course!" she said, closing the book, and tucking it under her arm, "Just catching up on some light reading."  
  
"A Nastily Exhausting Survey of Wizarding History, W.E.A. Edition," Ron recited, tilting his head to read the cover, "Hermione, one of these days I'm going to buy you a real book. You know, with people, and a story?"  
  
"History is all [I]about[/I] people and stories," she said, with a flip of her bushy brunette hair.  
  
"No, I mean something that I'd actually be caught dead reading."  
  
"Oh, you mean like that 'Martin the Mad Muggle' nonsense? That's light enough," she said with a snort, "I'm not sure that comic books count as 'reading,' Ron."  
  
"Graphic novel," he muttered under his breath so only Harry could hear. Harry smiled. He knew they were partly performing for his benefit – striving for a bit of normalcy, and he appreciated it.  
  
When they arrived at the Great Hall and stepped inside, the whole school was abuzz. The Slytherin table was divided into two distinct groups – the ones who didn't want to risk getting beat up, and the ones sitting next to Malfoy, which included Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bullstrode, and few others whose names Harry didn't know. The Ravenclaw table, which was across from them, kept shooting nasty looks at them and muttering murderously under their breaths. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were totally jumbled, forming tight knots of excited whispering scattered up and down the tables.  
  
"Hi, Harry!" shouted Colin Creevey from the other end of the Gryffindor table, waving happily, his brother Dennis by his side.  
  
All conversation ceased, and Harry felt the sudden heat of about four hundred eyes on him. He felt Hermione take a step backwards to his left.  
  
"Smile," he muttered without moving his lips. He waved broadly, "Hello, Colin."  
  
"Hi, Harry!" he repeated, ecstatically aware that he had publicly confirmed their friendship for all to see, "Want to eat with us?"  
  
"Oh," Harry said, scanning the table, "Well, I...promised Ginny and Neville..."  
  
But he was saved from further excuses as the entire Gryffindor Quiddtich team surrounded him and his friends.  
  
"You can eat with us," Katie said, "We'll watch your back. Besides, we already know the story."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said.  
  
They all found a spot, and piping hot, fresh food appeared on their plates.  
  
"Mm," Ron remarked casually, "Roast beef tonight!"  
  
"Hermione," Ginny said cautiously, "Are you—"  
  
"No need to worry," Hermione said with a bracing grin, "I'm fine. Top hole."  
  
"– going to have any?" Ginny said, and Harry noticed that she was passing around the potatoes.  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, blushing furiously, "Yes, please...thanks, Ginny."  
  
"Sorry," Ginny said fretfully, "I didn't mean to—"  
  
"No, that's alright—"  
  
"I just didn't—"  
  
"If I hear one more apology tonight," Harry said, shaking his head and grinning.  
  
"You're right, I'm sorry!" Ginny said, her eyes wide.  
  
There was a pause as they all looked at each other, and burst out laughing.  
  
"Let's just try to relax," Harry said, feeling his shoulders release just a bit.  
  
"Harry," Sloper said, tapping him on the shoulder.  
  
Harry turned around to see that a queue had formed, stretching down the table, of people waiting to speak to them. At the forefront was Zacharias Smith and the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.  
  
"Oh," Hermione said quietly.  
  
"Great," Harry thought to himself, "Just relax. Right."  
  
"You feel like seeing people, Harry?" Jack said sternly, his arms folded across his chest.  
  
"No!" Harry said hastily, blushing, "I mean, yes, it's fine!"  
  
Andrew Kirke glared up at Zacharias suspiciously, "'Cause we can hold 'em off if you like—"  
  
"No!" Harry shouted, "Err...no thank you. You two...go eat something."  
  
"Right. Just holler if you need us."  
  
Zacharias stepped forward.  
  
"Zack, hi, sorry about that, they're just a little—"  
  
Zacharias put one hand on Harry's shoulder, and grasped Harry's hand into a firm handshake with the other. He took a deep breath through his nose, and drew himself up to full height. Harry felt a speech coming on.  
  
"I just wanted to let you know, Harry," he said pompously, so that everyone could hear him, "That Hufflepuff is with you. And as Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, I promise to you, we are going to flatten Slytherin at the end of the year!"  
  
He clapped Harry jovially on the shoulder again, "Not that we're going to go easy on you, now!" The Hufflepuff Quidditch team laughed dutifully.  
  
"Err – thanks," Harry said. Ron was laughing also, but Harry had the feeling it was more "at you" laughter than the "with you" sort...Harry felt like he'd just shaken hands with a young Gilderoy Lockhart.  
  
He glanced up at the teacher's table, and saw that Professor McGonagall was eyeing him sternly, giving a slight shake of her head. Hagrid looked very uncomfortable for Harry, but altogether, the teachers were pretty helpless...what could they do? Demand that the students stop talking to Harry and eat? It was an unspoken agreement at Hogwarts that during meals, the professors and students pretty much kept to themselves, coming and going when they pleased, and chatting with each other. Meal time at Hogwarts was viewed as both the students' and the teachers' opportunity to relax, and for years, they'd been cordially ignoring one another, unless there were certain announcements or someone was causing trouble, of course. But they were going to have to say something eventually...this was getting out of hand.  
  
Zacharias's eyes moved to Hermione, and Harry was appalled to see that he actually knelt on one knee and took her hand in his.  
  
"Hermione," he said tenderly, "How are you? Alright?"  
  
"[I]I'm fine[/I]" she hissed quietly through her fixed smile, "And unless you are proposing marriage, [I]do[/I] stand up, won't you?"  
  
Zacharias looked a bit taken aback. Ginny was biting her knuckles to keep from laughing.  
  
"Just – err...well, good! Excellent," he said, regaining his composure, "Just wanted to make sure you were alright. You know," he said confidentially, "You can always count on Hufflepuff to come to your aid."  
  
"Thank you," she said, sounding quite like Professor McGonagall, "I'll keep it in mind."  
  
"Sorry 'bout him," said the Hufflepuff Beater who had helped them earlier, leaning in to whisper in Harry's ear, "He's means well, an' all. We think being made captain went a bit to his head."  
  
"It's fine," Harry said despondently – the line was getting even longer.  
  
Luna Lovegood drifted down the line, cutting in front of everyone else. To Harry's horror, she had tied her Ravenclaw tie around her head.  
  
"Hello," she said dreamily to Harry, pointing at the tie on her head, "I suppose I'm the Ravenclaw delegate."  
  
Ron eyed Luna cautiously, and reached across the table as though to take Hermione's hand. She smacked it away, red-faced. Luna walked over to Hermione, unshouldering her bag.  
  
"I heard you were attacked, and figured you might need some more luck."  
  
She upended the bag onto the table, and shook it. Out poured two rusty horseshoes, three trolls, a four-leaf clover in a small plastic box, two vividly pink live rabbits ("They're actually slippers I transfigured..."), a string of garlic, a pocket Sneakoscope, a circle of protection on a silver chain, two amulets, a shiny bronze Knut, and for some inexplicable reason, a sock.  
  
"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said determinedly, "I'm sure it'll come in handy." Harry thought she might die of embarrassment, but not before Ginny died from laughter.  
  
"Just remember," Luna said, raising a finger and smiling benignly, "Stamp on their instep to break the metatarsal, and thrust upwards into their nose with the heel of your hand! Want me to show you? Stand up, Harry—"  
  
"NO! Err, no," Hermione said hastily, saving Harry from at worst, a painful death, and at best, a broken foot, "You...You can show me at the meeting tonight."  
  
"Oh!" she said, clapping her hands, "You saw my flier!"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"For the Snorkack Aid Society! Are you joining?"  
  
Hermione elected to ignore this, "Actually, I meant the [I]other[/I] meeting," she said meaningfully.  
  
"Gobstones?"  
  
"Just check your pockets later," Hermione said exasperatedly.  
  
"Oh, alright," Luna said, with her implacable calm. She blew Ron a kiss across the table.  
  
"That's for luck," she said with a wink.  
  
She smiled at Neville who was eyeing her furtively across the table. She stood on the bench, put one knee down on the table, leaned precariously over the mashed potatoes, and kissed Neville on the cheek.  
  
"And that's for you."  
  
She hopped nimbly down from the table, and seemed to float, rather than walk back to the Ravenclaw table, and Harry was surprised to find that he, like the other boys at the table, felt compelled to watch her go.  
  
Hermione muttered something under her breath that Harry didn't quite catch.  
  
"No, she's not," Ginny said cheerfully, "Just a bit dotty, is all."  
  
"You seem awfully happy," Ron said, scowling and wiping his cheek.  
  
"Oh, lighten up, Ron," Ginny said, "You have to admit, it's all a bit ridiculous. Not—" she interrupted herself, with an anxious glance at Hermione, "You know, not that what happened is ridiculous, just..."  
  
"I know," Hermione said, shaking her head, "Maybe 'surreal' is the word?"  
  
"Well, we're glad we're keeping you so well entertained," Harry said with a wry grin.  
  
Neville was rubbing his cheek, and grinning like an idiot at Ron.  
  
"That did just happen, right?" he asked in a timorous voice, "I didn't imagine it?"  
  
"Harry."  
  
Harry turned from Neville grinning broadly, and came face to face to Cho Chang, and several other Ravenclaws. The smile slid off his face like runny eggs. Cho was still wearing her shin guards, and a few sticky strands of hair were stuck to her forehead – they must have had the pitch just before dinner.  
  
"Oh. Hi," he muttered.  
  
Cho flushed a slight pink, and suddenly said, "I'm Quidditch Captain. For Ravenclaw. I don't know if you knew or not..."  
  
"Good for you!" Harry said, and he realized with a bit of panic that he might have sounded sarcastic, "No, I mean it...that's...I'm really happy for you."  
  
"Look, Harry..." she sighed. "I don't mean to bother you. This is really serious, or I wouldn't have come over. The whole school's in a flap about it," she said, "I still...I don't like to see you or any of your friends get hurt. I was really upset when I heard about it."  
  
Harry felt something hard and tight loosen in his chest. Maybe he didn't have to ignore Cho Chang for the rest of his life.  
  
"Bet she cried," Ron barely uttered, so Cho couldn't hear him, "Always does."  
  
"He's a detestable snake in the grass," Cho said firmly, her eyes flashing, "Malfoy, I mean. And the now the whole school knows it."  
  
"It wasn't exactly a secret," Ginny said coolly.  
  
"I just wanted to let you know that we're also going to win against Slytherin. And I still want to be in the D.A...And..." she trailed off, "I guess that's it."  
  
"Okay," Harry said lamely, "Thanks...that's really nice." He cringed – that was horribly inadequate. Why, oh why did he have to sound like an idiot every time Cho tried to talk to him? He didn't even like her anymore, and he still made a fool of himself.  
  
"Hermione," Cho continued, "If you need anything—"  
  
"I know," Hermione said, "But I'm fine. You don't need to worry, really."  
  
"Okay, thanks for stopping by!" Ginny said, and Harry detected a slight edge beneath the cheerfulness. As oddly as his friends were acting, it was nice to know that so many people wanted to protect him.  
  
Cho gave her a funny look, and walked back over to the Ravenclaw table.  
  
"This is impossible," Harry said, pushing away his fork, "We might as well go back to the common room. If we're hungry later, we can go tickle the pear."  
  
"Where are you going, Harry?" Colin asked eagerly from down the table, as Harry stood.  
  
"I think...I'm just going to go for a walk," he said. After all, if he couldn't exactly say "I'd like the common room to myself, please."  
  
"Can I come, too?"  
  
Harry pretended that he hadn't heard, and worked his way through the small crowd, nodding politely, and forcing himself to grin. Just as he was about to reach the door, his way was blocked by Derrick Bole, a Beater for the Slytherin Quidditch Team.  
  
Instantly, as though they'd sprung up like mushrooms, he was surrounded by three Quidditch teams, and half the D.A. What seemed like half the school stood up and hurried over to watch the action. Harry groaned inwardly, and wished dearly that one could Apparate on Hogwarts grounds so he could just zap himself straight to bed.  
  
Derrick eyed them all nervously.  
  
"I don't want trouble," he said.  
  
"You've got it," Jack Sloper said, rolling up his sleeves. Harry anxiously gave him an elbow in the arm. "Ow! Sorry, Harry."  
  
Derrick scowled, and spat on the stone floor before saying, "Look. I just want to say that it was Malfoy that did what he did, and not Slytherin House. So call off your attack dogs."  
  
"They're not my attack dogs," Harry said angrily, "I didn't ask for any of this! If you're having a rough time of it, then blame Malfoy."  
  
"I do," Derrick said, "I'm just saying, I don't want to have to look over my shoulder in the hallways because Draco Malfoy is an idiot."  
  
"I can't help what other people do," Harry said, rubbing his forehead.  
  
"You sure don't seem to mind it, though," Derrick said with a sneer, "Walking around like the Minister of Magic—"  
  
"Excuse me," said Professor McGonagall, and all of the students jumped, and parted to allow her through, "I couldn't help but wonder what was so fascinating over here that half the school had to come and look."  
  
Abashed, most of the crowd slunk back to their seats.  
  
"Potter. Bole. Is there a problem here?" she asked, with an arched eyebrow.  
  
"No," Derrick said rudely.  
  
"No what?"  
  
"Pr'fessor."  
  
"Good then. I see my concerns were unfounded. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley...Hagrid asked me to remind you about your detention. You may meet him at the Gamekeeper's cottage," she said, folding her hands regally.  
  
"Detention!" cried Ron, "What've we done now?"  
  
"Okay," Harry interrupted eagerly, "Thank you, Professor."  
  
"Thanks, Professor," Hermione added.  
  
Grateful beyond words, Harry left the room as fast as he could, Ron and Hermione half-jogging to keep up. 


	20. Chapter Twenty

"Mad!" Harry shouted, stomping angrily past the Whomping Willow, "The whole school's gone mad!"  
  
It was a beautiful night – high in the eastern sky, the night had already faded to a deep blue, stars beginning to emerge, while the last vestiges of pink clung to the western horizon. The cool evening air and the damp grass did nothing to cool Harry's temper, however – Dinner had been an unqualified disaster.  
  
"This is awful," Hermione moaned, "We're never going to be able to finish out the year like this. How am I going to get any studying done?"  
  
"How am I going to [I]eat[/I]?" Ron asked grumpily, rubbing his growling stomach, "Why did we even go to dinner at all? It's a nightmare."  
  
"Is that all you can think about?" Hermione snapped.  
  
"Well, seeing as I've gone all day without food, it's on my mind a bit, yeah!"  
  
"Stop fighting," Harry said wearily, "My head is killing me. I've a lump the size of an ostrich egg."  
  
"It's just like the Sorting Hat said," Hermione said worriedly, "The houses are divided."  
  
"No they're not! Seems like three against one to me!" Ron said.  
  
"Exactly," Hermione said, exasperatedly slapping the back of her hand into her palm, "We've got to be careful about ostracizing Slytherin –"  
  
"Right," Ron snorted, "Because they're [I]so[/I] anxious to make friends."  
  
"It's not just that," Hermione continued angrily, "Slytherin is divided amongst itself. And they're not the only ones...There's dissention and argument all over the school – about whether Voldemort is really back to full strength, about whether Harry is safe or not..."  
  
"Well, they seemed pretty united to me when Derrick was giving Harry a hard time!"  
  
"But for all the wrong reasons!" she pressed, "How long do you really think this is going to last? You've seen them over the years – Like with the Chamber, or that Triwizard nonsense..."  
  
Harry didn't bother to mention he'd just been thinking the same thing a few hours earlier...he was annoyed, however, that Hermione was probably right, as usual. The lump on his head gave a particularly painful twinge.  
  
"They're with us today, but they could turn on us just as easily, as soon as something bad happens –"  
  
"Can't you two pretend to get along for five minutes?" Harry snapped.  
  
They arrived at Hagrid's modest cottage feeling exhausted, irritated, and angry with one another. Hagrid flung the door wide open, and ushered them in with great sweeps of his massive arm.  
  
"Come on, come on then. In you get."  
  
They entered the cottage to find a roaring fire waiting for them, and four massive mugs full of tea. There was a tray of Hagrid's infamous rock biscuits sitting on a tray above the fire.  
  
"Those're nearly done," Hagrid said, "Should be nice an' golden brown in a mo'."  
  
Hermione, knowing that golden brown would be a carcinogenic black, rushed over and took them off the fire.  
  
"Oh," Hagrid said, a bit surprised, "Well, I guess you could eat 'em now if y'like em a bit underdone..."  
  
"We do," Ron and Harry said together. Finally, all four of them sat down at Hagrid's one, multi-purpose table, sipped their tea, and heaved a collective sigh of relief. Harry felt as though he were going to melt into a puddle on the floor.  
  
"Insanity," Ron muttered, "Utter insanity."  
  
"I know," Hagrid said, "Felt bad fer you lot, but couldn' do much, know what I mean?"  
  
"Take it from me," Harry said, the hot tea slipping down his throat, warming his chest, "What you did was perfect."  
  
"Best detention I ever served," Ron declared, leaning back in his chair with a grin, "Good idea, Hagrid."  
  
"This is wonderful, Hagrid," Hermione said, the fight having gone out of her, "Thank you."  
  
"Mmph," Hagrid grunted, by way of "You're welcome." He was squinting at Hermione, who was dejectedly staring into her tea mug.  
  
Hagrid put a beefy finger under her chin, and lifted her eyes to meet his.  
  
"Now, I know you're not the type to ask fer it," he said, "An' yer probably sick to death of hearin' it. But there's some benefits to bein' the size I am, an' if yer ever in trouble, you know you can jes' let me know about et, an' I'll sort it out for yeh, and see it [I]stays[/I] sorted, come to tha'. Tha' goes for all of yeh, o' course."  
  
Hermione smiled the first genuine smile Harry had seen on her in hours. "Thank you, Hagrid," she said.  
  
"Mmph."  
  
He leaned back in his chair, and rested his teacup on his beard, spilling some of it.  
  
"I dunno," he sighed, shaking his head slightly (which did nothing to help balance his tea), "I jus' don' know. You kids...Got a lot on yer minds, don' yeh? More'n I ever did. But that's not sayin' much, is it?" he added with a jovial wink, "Not exac'ly a NEWT scholar, am I?"  
  
"Hagrid, you shouldn't say things like that," Hermione started frowningly, "Just because other people have certain prejudices against–"  
  
"Ah'm jes' havin' a little jest, 'Ermione. Never you mind. I jus' worry over you lot, sometimes."  
  
They spent about an hour in Hagrid's cottage, sipping tea, eating rock cakes (which were actually quite good when not cremated), and not talking about anything in particular. Hagrid asked them how their classes were, and they told him little bits and nothings about their first week. Harry felt as though all of the ill will and anxiety was slowly leeched out of him by the warmth and idle chat. Fang came over and put his droopy head over Harry's knee, and he scratched behind his ears drowsily. Hermione was chatting quietly to Hagrid about their house elves lesson, but he wasn't really paying attention...He closed his eyes...  
  
Harry was sitting at a table in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, playing chess with Ron, only his pieces wouldn't do what he told them too. They just ignored his every suggestion, and started hacking at each other nonsensically. Derrick Bole told him it was his fault, and the whole school started shouting at one another and throwing things down from the stands. Hermione was trying to call out instructions to them, but she was trapped under the bleachers, and he couldn't hear her over all the noise...  
  
He was walking down a corridor at Hogwarts. He heard Ron shouting up ahead...what was he saying? It sounded like he was angry...no...angry, or scared? He quickened his pace, trying to reach him, but he was suddenly walking down the corridor to the Department of Mysteries. He felt more awake, somehow...very alert and aware of himself.  
  
"Sirius is dead," Harry reminded himself gently, "You don't need to keep coming here."  
  
He sighed as he involuntarily opened the door, and stepped into the blue- torch room. It was as though his body was acting and his mind was simply along for the ride. He closed the door behind him, and the room began to spin.  
  
As Harry pondered which door to take, he suddenly realized he was looking for something... "What am I looking for?" he asked himself.  
  
"Oi! Harry!"  
  
He jerked awake, spilling some tea down his front.  
  
Hermione sighed with a smile, and did the same tricky little spell she had used last year, causing a jet of hot air to come out of the tip of her wand, which she directed at Harry's sweater. Harry saw that Ron was blinking drowsily as well.  
  
"It's almost time," she said, "We should head over to the Room of Requirement."  
  
"Now?" Harry said, automatically checking his broken watch, "What time is it?"  
  
"I know, we'll probably run after curfew," Hermione said, "But there are more important things."  
  
"You're not planning..." Harry squinted, "You're not going to tell everyone...about what I told you this afternoon?"  
  
"Of course not," Hermione said, "We always send everyone home before us, and check for them on the Map, to see they get home safe. I figured since we were leaving last, we'd just stay, and you could tell us all about it."  
  
"Should I be hearin' any o' this?" Hagrid said with a knowing smile.  
  
"Oh...err...probably not," Hermione said.  
  
"Right," Hagrid said, leaning back in his chair, "No need to worry, 'Ermione. Mum's the word."  
  
Harry noticed that Hermione didn't seem too comforted. Hagrid's secret- keeping skills were not exactly renowned. But it was too late now – at least she hadn't given specific details.  
  
"We'd better get going," she said. She and Ron got up and headed for the door, Harry following.  
  
"Harry – could you 'ang on a minute?" Hagrid asked.  
  
"Oh, err...sure, Hagrid. Go on, I'll catch up," he said to Ron and Hermione.  
  
"I jes' wanted to see how you were gettin' on," Hagrid said, "I know yer blamin' yerself, same as you always do."  
  
"Well, we've sort of been through that, already," Harry said smiling bravely, "It's not fun, but we'll get through it."  
  
Hagrid met his eyes and the same strange look came over his face as before. "Blimey, Harry, you really do look like 'im." Harry felt the familiar comfortable sadness in his chest he frequently felt when he thought of his parents...it was the same loving, longing feeling he'd felt looking into the Mirror of Erised.  
  
"I don't understand how I look more like him this year than any other," Harry said, "I don't think I've changed all that much."  
  
"Wait, look righ' at me..." Hagrid looked deeply into Harry's face for a moment, and then another, squinting. Harry began to feel a bit awkward.  
  
"Summat's different, I know it," Hagrid said, "I jus' can' say what it is. It'll come to me."  
  
"Right," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably, "Well, until it does?..."  
  
"Right, sorry," Hagrid said, smiling broadly, "You go on an' catch up."  
  
"Thanks, Hagrid. For everything."  
  
"Ah, Harry. You can always come by 'ere, whenever it strikes yer fancy."  
  
Harry smiled, gave Fang one last scratch behind the ears, and stepped out into the cool evening. For the first time, he was able to notice what a beautiful night it was.  
  
After a quick stop at the Gryffindor common room to pick up the Marauder's Map, they headed to the hallway of the Room of Requirement. Harry tapped the map with his wand.  
  
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."  
  
Hogwarts castle lay spelled out before them, in miniature. He saw Filch patrolling the Transfiguration corridor, and Peeves just outside Snape's office door. He secretly hoped he was being particularly obnoxious. All of the professors were safely in their offices – the coast was clear.  
  
They walked up and down the hallway several times together.  
  
"We need a room again," he thought, "Like last year – somewhere to practice Defense Against the Dark Arts...Somewhere safe, and hidden."  
  
The door appeared, as usual, and with one last glance down the hallway, Harry opened it.  
  
The door had appeared just as usual. The room, however, was not as it usually was.  
  
It had doubled in size – the hardwood floor was gleaming, and on top of it, instead of the stack of pillows he'd been expecting, was a shiny blue tumbling mat that took up about two-thirds of the floor space. There was a chalkboard at either end of the room, and he noticed there was an extra bookshelf as well, full of beginner-level books. All of the instruments were there – the Sneakoscopes, the Foe glass, and some other ones he'd never even seen before. A full-length mirror ran along one side of the room, so they could all observe one another, and study their form.  
  
"Hermione," Harry said sternly, "Exactly how many people are coming tonight?"  
  
"Oh," she said nervously, "Well, people might have told their friends..."  
  
Harry shook his head. The D.A. was already quite large – he'd be hard pressed to give everyone equal attention if they had a large number of new members.  
  
But he had no time to think about it, because the door opened slowly, and Neville poked his head in and took a look around.  
  
"Wow," he said simply, taking in the gleaming floor, and shiny new mat. He was followed in by a trembling Arthur Aaronson, and a very keen Broderick Johnson, who looked around the place excitedly. They'd hardly stepped in when the door opened again, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived, along with Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch- Fletchley, Zacharias Smith, the two Beaters from the Quidditch team, and several other Hufflepuffs he'd never met hot on their heels.  
  
Harry glanced anxiously at the Marauder's Map. The hallway was a mass of black dots.  
  
In came Cho Chang, with Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Padma Patil, and Luna Lovegood. Dean and Seamus showed up escorting Parvati and Lavender. Finally, the Creevey brothers arrived with Anthony Goldstein in tow, and a few first years Harry recognized from the hallways. One of them was that girl from the Sorting...Electra something-or-other.  
  
Harry did a quick scan, and altogether counted thirteen new members, and twenty-two returning. He shot Hermione a dirty look, and she grinned helplessly.  
  
Ron whistled softly, scanning the room, "Good luck, Harry."  
  
"Thanks," he said wryly.  
  
"Don't worry," Hermione said reassuringly, "I'll start us off." She stepped up to the chalkboard.  
  
"Hi," she said, "Well, first of all, I'm going to pass around a new list...if everyone could sign it, please?"  
  
Harry grinned slightly, as several of the new faces fell a bit. The whole secrecy thing seemed a bit silly now – especially now that they had Lupin's express permission. But Hermione was right – Voldemort was still on the loose, and it couldn't hurt to be extra cautious, no matter how unlikely it seemed that He would ever find out about the D.A.  
  
"Then again," he reflected darkly, "He might have guessed something at the Ministry last year...And I didn't think he'd be able to find out who my Secret Keeper was either." He glanced at Neville, and realized he'd better switch as soon as possible.  
  
Everyone sat on the gym mats cross-legged, and began signing the list and passing it along.  
  
"Excellent," Hermione said brightly, "Well, I suppose you all know why we're here," she began, but was interrupted by that Electra girl's hand shooting up into the air.  
  
"Oh," she said, surprisedly, "Yes?"  
  
Electra stood up with a sweep of her black hair, "Electra Bellanova, Ravenclaw," she announced, "What exactly happened today? I've been hearing the most ridiculous rumors."  
  
There was a murmur of agreement among the people gathered. The smile fell from Hermione's face. She was going to have to relive this over and over...moreover, it would mean revealing [I]why[/I] Draco had attacked her, which would put Neville in danger...not to mention himself...  
  
"Look," Ron said, "That's not why—"  
  
"I'll field that," Harry said, stepping up to the chalkboard. Hermione gratefully stepped aside.  
  
Harry turned to face everyone, and saw thirty-five faces looking at him expectantly. His stomach did a little flop. Why was everything always up to him?  
  
"Hermione and I were attacked today," Harry said, "By Draco Malfoy. We think he's trying to get information and leak it to the Death Eaters."  
  
He was careful not to say what information, or how Hermione had obtained it, and he was especially careful not to use the "V" word. He didn't want to scare away the first-years right off the bat. Nonetheless, there was a murmur of shock and disbelief.  
  
"It's true," Luna Lovegood said calmly, "Draco's father is a Death Eater. We battled him last year at the break in at the Ministry of Magic. You may have read about it this summer in the Quibbler. Or the Prophet, maybe," she added as an afterthought, "But they watered the story down a bit."  
  
A chuckle met this pronouncement from about half of the people gathered there. Harry felt angry, but what could he say? Luna did have a reputation for believing the unbelievable...  
  
"I was there, too," Ron said, "At the Ministry of Magic. And there was nothing funny about it."  
  
"So was I," said Neville.  
  
"And me," Ginny said.  
  
The room grew quiet once more. Harry sighed inwardly. It was time to lay all the cards on the table.  
  
"Lord Voldemort is back," Harry said frankly, and there were several muffled shrieks...he could see several of them jump, "He's killed before, and he'll kill again. He's back to full strength, and he's not going to stop until..."  
  
He caught himself just in the nick of time.  
  
"He's not going to stop."  
  
"Stop what?" Electra Bellanova asked, "Just what are his plans?"  
  
Harry hesitated, "We don't know too much specifically. There's a lot of older wizards working on it...but we haven't heard much ourselves."  
  
He wasn't about to tell everyone here about the prophecy...  
  
"All we know is that Voldemort-" (There was another jump) "-has only one true love, and that's power. He won't be able to rest until he's the most powerful wizard in England. I dunno...maybe the world."  
  
Another long silence met this pronouncement.  
  
"Well, if we don't even know what he's up to," Electra said, raising an eyebrow, "Shouldn't we just leave it to the Aurors? How do we even know we're in danger? It's not like he's going to show up at Hogwarts."  
  
"Sit down," hissed Cho under her breath, yanking her by the wrist. She gave Harry a half-hearted grin and a shrug, as though to apologize.  
  
"Of course Cho brought her," Harry thought to himself angrily, "Because she's so good at picking her friends..."  
  
"The point I want to make," Harry continued, addressing Electra directly, "Is that his influence is getting stronger and stronger. He's been reunited with his Death Eaters. And we learned today," he said with a glance at Hermione, "That we are no longer safe here at Hogwarts. We started Dumbledore's Army last year because Umbridge wouldn't even let us learn Defense."  
  
There were some muffled boos and hisses at her name, while the first years looked about, bewildered. Harry smiled.  
  
"But we continued exactly [I]because[/I] we didn't know what Voldemort was planning. We knew we would need to stand together, and be prepared for anything."  
  
Electra pulled a doubtful face that seemed to express her distaste in Harry's lack of clear-cut information. Harry caught a couple others glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes.  
  
"I'm not," he cautioned, "Going to prove to you that Voldemort is back, or tell you his plans," he said, "Or give you the blow-by-blow of things that happened last year, or the year before, or even today," he said with another glance in Hermione's direction, "So if that's why you came, I'm sorry."  
  
"Why are we here then?" Electra asked pointedly.  
  
"To kick some Dark Arse!" Seamus said emphatically, fired up with purpose. There was some appreciative laughter, and a few people clapped and hooted. Harry saw the light in their eyes, and grimaced inwardly. They didn't know...They didn't know what it was like to watch your friends falling all around you, they didn't know what it felt like to lose someone to a Death Eater...  
  
"Now look," he said sternly...he [I]had[/I] to make them understand. "We're also not about to go chasing after the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, picking a fight..."  
  
Electra rolled her eyes. He knew he was losing them – he kept denying them what they really wanted to hear, but what could he say? "Yes, you're absolutely right, we're going to learn some fourth and fifth year spells and go take on Lord Voldemort?"  
  
"I made that mistake once," he mentally punished himself, "And I won't make it again." He felt as though Sirius were watching him, shaking his head...That he was leading all of these [I]kids[/I] astray...not so much the returning members, but the first years were just eleven-year olds...Of course they couldn't understand...Had he really understood in his first year the sacrifices he'd be called on to make?  
  
"Look, we trained in this very room nearly the entire year last year," Ron said, his irritation plain, "And we all nearly died anyway...Hermione and I were in hospital for weeks...but the thing of it is, without the D.A., we would have been goners fifty times over."  
  
Harry nodded in agreement, "The point of the D.A. isn't to go looking for trouble. But if you join up, you're going to be able to defend yourself whenever you need to, and you'll have a much better chance of making it out alive should you ever run into a dark wizard."  
  
He paused, and thought back to that morning.  
  
"Hermione and I weren't expecting to have to defend ourselves this morning," he said slowly, "Nobody does. Nobody walks around waiting to be attacked. The point is to be ready when it does happen. That's what we do here."  
  
An appreciative silence reigned...even Electra Bellanova seemed thoughtful, and then she smiled and nodded at Harry.  
  
"Well, glad I have your stamp of approval," Harry thought, feeling both slightly irked and deeply relieved to have earned it.  
  
"Right!" he said, with a grin, "Well, I guess we'd better get to it!" 


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

Everybody stood expectantly, waiting for direction.  
  
"Right," Harry said, "Let's start by reviewing what we did last year. We'll begin with the Impediment jinx. Why don't you all pair up –"  
  
Electra had rolled her eyes again, and raised her hand. Harry was reminded of a first-year Hermione...only much more impatient and obnoxious.  
  
"Yes?" he asked bluntly.  
  
"We weren't [I]here[/I] last year," she said, "Some of us don't even know the incantation for the Impediment jinx."  
  
"But [I]you[/I] know it, don't you," Harry thought dryly.  
  
"Fine," he said, "Would all of last year's members please pair up with a new member, if you can? Especially if you feel more confident on this one? Great. Now remember, it's not enough to say the spell, you have to visualize what you want to happen in order for it to work really well..."  
  
They worked their way systematically through what they'd covered last year...the Impediment Jinx, Petrificus Totalus, Locomotor Mortis, and Expelliarmus. Altogether, the new students were catching on pretty quickly...Arthur had a pretty powerful Petrificus, but his poor aim (due, no doubt, to his trembling hands), had already sent Neville crashing rigidly to the mat several times.  
  
"S-Sorry!" squeaked Arthur, turning white at the prospect of having petrified a sixth year for the fourth time, "I'm not doing it on p-purpose, really, I'm n-not!"  
  
"That's alright," Neville said laughing shyly, after Hermione administered the countercurse, "I'm sort of used to it by now. Besides, I was even worse when I first started...really, that wasn't bad..."  
  
Harry grinned to himself and moved on to Parvati and Lavender who were bullying a couple first years a bit, freezing and unfreezing them with the Locomotor Mortis charm, but Harry let it slide – a little good-natured hazing wouldn't hurt. Besides, even though Electra Bellanova was trying to laugh it off as her arm jerked and stopped its way to her wand, he could sense her embarrassed frustration, and it gratified him a bit.  
  
On the other hand, Padma and Luna were having a full-out wizard's duel, to the amazement of a couple new Hufflepuffs...what were their names again?  
  
"Good one!" Padma admitted begrudgingly from the mat, after Luna had tripped her with the Impediment Jinx.  
  
"Oh, thank you," Luna said airily, but this allowed Padma the chance to cry, "Meducapelli!" and Luna's hair came alive, yanking and tugging her head about.  
  
The first year Hufflepuffs clapped, but Luna slapped one hand over her struggling hair, and wielding her wand with the other, cried, "Tereseus!"  
  
Padma let out a little shriek, and began blinking widely, stretching her hands in front of her. "Take it off! You win, you win!"  
  
"Finite Incantatem," Harry said, and Padma suddenly seemed to be able to see him. She put a hand over her heaving chest.  
  
"You frightened me half to death," she said, trying to catch her breath, "What spell is that, Luna?"  
  
"Tereseus," she said, "The Blinding Spell...Daddy taught it to me this summer, for the garden. After we got home from hunting Snorkacks, of course," she said, as though this were perfectly obvious, "The Black-Eyed Susans we planted actually turned out to be Peeping Tomflowers, so I had to blind them every night before I could take a shower. Come to think of it, I've never tried it on a human before..."  
  
Padma seemed like she was either going to faint or chuck something at Luna, while one of the Hufflepuff boys had gone red as a radish, no doubt at the thought of Luna jinxing flowers wearing a towel...  
  
"That was a nice bit with the hair pulling...actually feels sort of pleasant now," Luna said, as her short hair began braiding itself into spiky little braids.  
  
"What was that hair-pulling one again?" Harry asked Padma, offering her a hand up from the floor. He figured she'd been embarrassed enough, especially in front of new members.  
  
"Oh...Meducapelli," she said, regaining some of her dignity, "I did a little research over the summer."  
  
"Great work," Harry smiled reassuringly, "Keep it up!"  
  
After working his way around the room twice, pointing out minor flaws, correcting pronunciation, posture, and aim, he decided they'd had enough for one day.  
  
"Now," he said, after they'd all sheathed their wands in their pockets, "We're going to have to head back in groups. And do try not to get caught. Even though the D.A. isn't expressly forbidden this year – "  
  
"It isn't?" asked Dean, sounding highly disappointed.  
  
"Even so," Harry said with a smile, "We are still out past curfew...and I don't fancy running into Filch even when I [I]haven't[/I] done anything wrong."  
  
There was a chuckle, and students divided themselves into groups of three or four. Harry watched them on the map, and kept an eye on Filch and Mrs. Norris for them. There were a few close calls – Mrs. Norris had run into Cho Chang and a couple Ravenclaws, but by the time Filch had arrived, they were safely in their dormitory.  
  
Finally, Arthur Aaronson, Neville, and Broderick closed the door to the Room of Requirement behind them, and Harry was left alone with Ron and Hermione.  
  
He heaved a deep sigh. He was finally going to tell them...  
  
"Well," Ron said, "Not bad for a first—"  
  
There was a slight cough to Harry's left, and with a little jump, he turned to find Ginny looking up at him.  
  
At least he'd thought they were alone...  
  
"Ginny!" he said, surprised, "Why didn't you leave with Arthur and Neville and—"  
  
"Oh," she said, waving her hand dismissively, "I just had something to ask you about the Impediment jinx. But..." she said eyeing Ron and Hermione, "I can wait."  
  
"Oh," Harry said, glancing at Hermione, "Well, we can do it now."  
  
"No," Ginny said, "I mean, I don't mind waiting. See, I need you to show me something, I think my wrist technique—"  
  
"It's fine, Ginny, it really is," Harry assured her, trying to hide his impatience, "You're one of the best in the D.A. Really."  
  
"—Because I wanted to ask you—"  
  
"Ginny," Harry interrupted as gently as he could, "I'm really sorry...I was just...kind of hoping I could get Ron and Hermione to myself for a little while?..."  
  
Ginny didn't say anything for a while, and Harry was wondering if maybe she hadn't heard him, when...  
  
"Oh," Ginny said lightly, "Right. Sorry, that was selfish of me."  
  
"Oh, no..." Harry said, befuddled, "That's fine..."  
  
"No," Ginny continued, and Harry recognized, with a sinking feeling, the familiar Mrs. Weasley flame igniting in Ginny's eyes, reddening her cheeks, "Because you [I]obviously[/I] don't spend [I]nearly[/I] enough time together as it is...I'll just leave you to it, then."  
  
"Ginny! Quit being a pain!" Ron said abruptly, "You can hang out with us tomorrow!"  
  
"Oh, [I]can[/I] I?" Ginny said, clapping her hands together sarcastically, "Tomorrow? Or the next day? Or maybe next week? Or at the next D.A. meeting? You know, you'd think I had never faced Voldemort before. You'd think I'd never been with you at the Department of Mysteries. But nevermind," she said, "I'll just go back to the common room with Neville and the other first years, shall I?"  
  
And she stormed out of the room.  
  
"What's the matter with her?" Harry asked irritatedly. He had enough on his mind without Ginny feeling all misunderstood and left out.  
  
And left out of what, he might add? Knowing the awful truth about his prophecized demise?  
  
"Hormones," Ron said with disgust, "She's all...wonky. She used to be fun, and lately she's been all girlie."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and snorted as she sat on the edge of a table.  
  
"Wait," Harry said, "Let me guess...you know exactly what's up with Ginny, because this is a girl thing, and we're just too hopelessly dumb to get it?"  
  
"Something like that," Hermione said, "Look, it's not for me to tell you. If half the school can figure it out, you two ought to be able to."  
  
"You know," Ron said thoughtfully, "You can be singularly irritating at times."  
  
"My goodness Ron, 'singularly irritating?' What an [I]awful[/I] lot of syllables."  
  
Harry scowled at the slammed door, "It's like she's been possessed by Cho Chang or something."  
  
"Right," Ron said, "Only at least with Cho she just cried all over you. You got lucky today, mate, I've seen Ginny when she's really miffed...she practically breathes fire."  
  
Hermione had buried her head in her hands.  
  
"And why do you think Ginny might be acting like Cho Chang?" she asked Harry, as though trying to teach him addition.  
  
"Because...she feels left out?" Harry asked, hopefully, "And she wants to make me feel bad?"  
  
"I give up," Hermione said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, "Look, let's change the subject."  
  
Harry turned away and busied himself with re-shelving a couple of books that Ernie had been thumbing through. Now that the moment had finally arrived, he wished he could delay it just a bit longer...  
  
"Harry," Hermione pressed, "Tell us about this prophecy."  
  
Harry sighed. In a way, it would be good to finally have this burden off his chest. Or at least share the load of it.  
  
"It's simple, really," he said, "There's this prophecy...Trelawney made it a long time ago—"  
  
Ron burst out laughing.  
  
"Are you serious? Sybill Trelawney? I knew you were reading too much into this. Harry, come on," he said, standing up from the table ledge, "Let's go back to the common room."  
  
"No," Harry said, "I know what you're thinking but this was a real prophecy...you haven't seen her when she does it...it's like...she goes all stiff and her voice..." a slight chill ran down his spine at the memory, "It's really creepy. Like someone else is speaking through her."  
  
"I don't know Harry, I still – "  
  
"Dumbledore believes it's true," Harry interrupted, "And so do the Unspeakables, apparently. And that's enough for me."  
  
"But what does it say, Harry?" Hermione asked, staring at him hard, "Exactly...do you remember the wording of it?"  
  
"Not totally, but it basically says," Harry said, bracing himself, "that either I have to kill Voldemort, or he has to kill me."  
  
He finished in a rush, hoping beyond reason that saying it faster would make it easier to hear. Ron and Hermione were quiet for a moment.  
  
"Blimey," Ron said quietly.  
  
"You can't remember the [I]exact[/I] wording?" Hermione asked, "Because I'd really like to—"  
  
"Hermione," Ron said, at Harry's pained expression, "You can't fix this with your brain. Some things you just can't fix."  
  
They were quiet again for a long time.  
  
"Well," Hermione said briskly, "You'll just have to kill him, then."  
  
"Easy for you to say!" Harry said hotly. Out of all the reactions he'd been expecting, that wasn't one he'd considered.  
  
"Well, that's all there [I]is[/I] to say, isn't there?" Hermione said, "Harry, I'm really sorry that this had to happen to you...but...it makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, when I heard what the prophecy actually was...it's as though I already knew it...you understand, right?"  
  
Harry turned his eyes to the new blue mat, and flicked some dirt off of it with the toe of his trainer. He knew exactly what Hermione meant. When he first heard the prophecy he'd been horrified, but something in him had known it to be true. All the events leading up to this moment...yes, he'd always known somewhere, ever since Hagrid had told him the story of his parents' murder, that he and Lord Voldemort, like it or not, were connected permanently.  
  
"So, there's no sense in torturing yourself over it," Hermione said, "As hard as it is. It's just that...there's no other option. Now, we just know exactly what we have to do."  
  
"We?" Harry said, "It only mentions me in the prophecy."  
  
"Prophecies don't include everything," Hermione said with a smile, "Do you think we'd let you do this alone?"  
  
"We told you before, and we'll say it again – you're stuck with us," Ron said bracingly, "And so is V-Voldemort."  
  
Harry felt the same desperately sad, desperately happy feeling he'd felt that afternoon. He wondered what he should say, what he could say to show them how grateful he felt...  
  
"Right," Ron said, jumping up from the table ledge, making all the instruments rattle, "It's been a helluva day. Back to the common room?"  
  
Later that night, Harry lay awake in bed. Tomorrow he'd have to change Secret Keepers...  
  
"Malfoy already asked Hermione if it was Ron, and she said no," he thought, "But that was then...if he suspects Neville now, I can switch to Ron...and he won't think to ask if it's Ron [I]again[/I], because he already has...and he knows she wasn't lying because of the Veritaserum..."  
  
He double-checked his logic. Was he really willing to put Ron in that kind of danger? And what kind of hypocrite did that make him, if he was willing to put Neville in danger and not Ron? Is that why Ginny was mad at him today? Because he didn't treat his friends equally? He squirmed guiltily under the covers.  
  
"It's not my fault they're my best friends," he thought to himself. What was he supposed to do? Treat the entire school the same way he treated Ron and Hermione?  
  
He was suddenly distracted by a creaking noise – someone was walking past the foot of his bed.  
  
"Ron?" he asked in a whisper. The creaking stopped.  
  
"Yeah?" Ron asked, his voice muffled through the curtain.  
  
"Nothing...just thought you were asleep."  
  
"Had to pee," Ron said, "What's up?" Harry could hear in Ron's voice that he wanted to get back to bed.  
  
"Nothing," Harry said, "Goodnight."  
  
"Night, Harry."  
  
Harry listened as Ron's curtains opened, and the bed creaked. He'd ask him tomorrow – there was no point in keeping him up any later tonight. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes.  
  
It was the year of the Yule Ball and Harry couldn't figure out who to take...Cho was already going with Cedric, and Luna was going with Neville...Professor Trelawney kept asking him to go, but then changed her mind and tried to convince Neville to go with her instead of Luna. Dumbledore finally agreed to go with Trelawney, but only if Ron could go with Hermione. Harry found that he had a headache by the time the whole thing was settled, and would have much preferred to stay home.  
  
In fact, his scar was really hurting him...  
  
He was walking down the Department of Mysteries corridor. The black door loomed ahead of him.  
  
"Not again," he moaned to himself, "How many times do I have to see this?"  
  
"[I]Haaaaarrrrryyyy....[/I]" called a hoarse voice.  
  
Harry felt a shiver go up and down his spine. Well [I]that[/I] had never happened before.  
  
He hurried into the circular room with the blue torches, and it began to spin. As it finally settled he wondered which door to take...he knew he was looking for something...But what? What was it?  
  
"Haaaaaaaarrrrrryyyyyy...." Called the sepulchural voice...Harry thought he recognized this voice as well...  
  
"Sirius?" he called out, more asking himself than anything else.  
  
He looked to the door on his left...he knew that it would lead to the stone archway...What if...  
  
What if Sirius actually [I]was[/I] waiting for him behind the veil?  
  
[I]Click![/I]  
  
Harry awoke to the familiar sound of the door to the dormitory clicking shut. He cursed inwardly and rubbed his tingling scar.  
  
He'd been foolish, even to believe it for a moment. It had to be just more torture...Lord Voldemort was just trying to goad him into doing something stupid again. Sirius was dead, and there was no way he was coming back.  
  
Was there? 


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

"Oi, Ron!" Harry called, flinging aside the bed hangings. Ron wheeled around by the door, startled. He laughed, and put a hand over his chest.  
  
"Nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought you were asleep!"  
  
"I was," Harry said, "What time is it?"  
  
"Well, it's about eleven," Ron said, "Everyone else has gone to breakfast already – we've missed it. Sorry, I probably should've woken you, but I was really tired myself. I figured we could get some breakfast...or some lunch, I guess, and then pay Lupin a visit, see what happened with Draco."  
  
"Even better," Harry said, getting up and reaching for his school robes, "We can go see Dumbledore."  
  
"Dumbledore?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing, "What for?"  
  
"Well," Harry said, trying to keep his voice casual, "Can you keep a secret?"  
  
"Sure," Ron said, doing a quick scan of the room, "What is it?"  
  
"No," Harry said, leaning in a bit closer, "Can you Keep a Secret?"  
  
"Ohhh," Ron said, and his brow furrowed even more, "I dunno Harry...are you sure you want me? I'm kind of the obvious choice, you know?"  
  
"That's just it," Harry said, "You're the first person Draco suspected...but he's already asked Hermione about you..."  
  
"I get it!" Ron said, his eyes lighting up, "Brilliant."  
  
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, guilt weighing heavy in his chest, "You know the danger, you saw what happened with Hermione—"  
  
"Harry," Ron said seriously, "That's [I]why[/I] I'm glad it's me. You can count on me – I'll take it to the grave, mate."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," Harry muttered.  
  
"Oh, come on," Ron said chucking a nearby pillow at Harry's head, "Stop being such a mope. We'll get to see Lupin today...and we won't even have to do any homework to do it. And the Halloween Party's coming up. Hey, I heard the Weird Sisters got back together...They might still play!"  
  
Ron paused thoughtfully and wrinkled his nose, "You don't think this'll be the kind of thing where we're supposed to ask someone, do you?"  
  
"No," Harry said smiling, "I think you're safe. Why, thinking of asking anyone in particular?"  
  
"No," Ron said defensively, "Anyway, it's better to go in a gang."  
  
They clomped noisily down the steps together, and found Hermione and Ginny huddled together, deep in conversation.  
  
"I knew it," Ron said sardonically, "Conspiracy. You lot are out to get us."  
  
"Who says we were talking about you?" Hermione asked, but a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth, as though sneaking in despite her best intentions. Harry felt a warm feeling at seeing that smile – it was distinctly Hermione's.  
  
"Hello, Harry," Ginny said stiffly.  
  
"Ginny, Hi," Harry said, "Listen, I'm really sorry about—"  
  
"Don't be," she said, "It's fine. I was making too big a deal out of it, anyway – I mean, I'll see you in Quidditch and all. Besides, I know you're busy. It's no big deal, really."  
  
"Really?" Harry said, immensely relieved, "Oh, good!" He laughed a bit, "Because you were [I]really[/I] mad..."  
  
But Hermione was giving him a sort of warning look.  
  
"Err...and you had every right to be...of course. I just...really...hope that it's not...I mean, I hope I didn't hurt your feelings or anything," he added, glancing furtively at Hermione to see if he'd gotten it right.  
  
"No, really," Ginny said smiling warmly, "It's fine."  
  
Hermione gave the slightest of nods and a wink.  
  
"Finally," Harry reflected, "I'm getting the hang of this."  
  
"We've got to go...er...do...this thing," Harry said. He saw Ginny's face cloud over a bit. He knew she was upset that he was withholding from her...  
  
"But we're going to lunch afterwards," he added quickly, "Want to come?"  
  
"Oh, that's okay," Ginny said lightly, "I'm having lunch with Roger Davies."  
  
"Roger Davies?!" Ron shouted, nearly falling off the arm of Hermione's armchair, where he'd been perched, "He's too old for you!"  
  
"Roger Davies is a seventh year!" Ginny said, wheeling on her brother, the flame instantly igniting behind her sparkling eyes, "And I'm a fifth year, Ron! I'm only one year below you!"  
  
"And two years below him! [I]Behind[/I] him," he corrected nervously, "I mean behind him!"  
  
Ginny shot him one last scathing, arched eyebrow, and then beamed at Harry. "See you at practice Monday! Bye Hermione!"  
  
"Bye," Hermione called, as Ginny flounced cheerfully out the portrait hole.  
  
"Roger flipping Davies again," Harry said, shaking his head in disgust.  
  
"Buck up, Harry," Ron said punching him on the arm, "We'll fix you up."  
  
"With who?" Harry said mopily.  
  
Hermione could barely suppress a moan of irritation.  
  
"I dunno," Ron said, "Maybe...somebody nice. You know? A nice...nice girl."  
  
Harry wasn't sure what he'd meant by a "nice" girl, but Ron seemed too embarrassed to say anything else, because he glanced at the door, and coughed abruptly.  
  
"We should probably get going," he added.  
  
Later that day, Harry and Ron, his newly appointed Secret Keeper, were walking towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, having just left Hermione, Neville, and Luna at the Gryffindor Table, and Ginny over at the Ravenclaw table, laughing insipidly at Roger Davies' jokes.  
  
"It's so obnoxious," Harry said, not quite sure himself why it irritated him so much, "She doesn't need to hang on him like that...she's not just some stupid girl...I mean, she's better than that."  
  
"I know, mate," Ron said, "Believe me, I know. Try being an older brother...how do you think I feel?"  
  
"Yes, but still," Harry said, "I practically am her older brother too, aren't I?"  
  
Ron didn't say anything. Harry found his mind wandering back to when Ron had said he was like his sixth brother, and he smiled.  
  
The Fidelius Charm had gone off without a hitch that morning – he just had to tell Neville, so that he wouldn't panic when he realized he couldn't remember the address.  
  
He was a little disappointed to note that there hadn't been the same burst of power that had emanated from Neville...yes, it had blown his hair back, and he supposed it was still impressive and all...but not nearly as jarring and forceful. He hoped it didn't bode ill.  
  
But he also knew that Ron would never, ever let him down – not while there was breath in his body.  
  
"Here we are, then," Ron said, rapping at the door.  
  
"In," Lupin hollered crossly.  
  
"[I]Someone's[/I] in a good mood," Ron muttered.  
  
They entered to room to find Lupin irritatedly jabbing his wand around the classroom.  
  
"Scourgify!" he bellowed, and the chalk dust exploded off of the chalkboard so fast, it the chalkboard was nearly pulled out of the wall. It hovered in the air for a moment, then condensed itself back into a short stub of chalk, which went whizzing back to its metal track, cracking into as it landed vehemently.  
  
"Err...Professor? Uh....Remus?...Sir?" Ron asked tentatively.  
  
Lupin stopped what he was doing and glared at Ron as though he'd interrupted something very important, indeed, but then his expression softened.  
  
"Sorry, boys. Don't mean to be rude. Not having a very a good day."  
  
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, his brow knit with concern.  
  
Lupin sighed, and slumped into the chair behind his desk. "Professor Snape dropped off some more Wolfsbane potion for me just a little while ago, and we had a few choice words."  
  
"That slimy git," Ron said, hopping up onto one of the school desks, one leg crooked jauntily over the desk, the other trailing to the floor, "He's enough to drive anyone mad."  
  
Lupin smiled at Ron strangely for a moment. "You know, sometimes being with you boys...Ah, nevermind."  
  
"No, go ahead," Harry said grinning. He had a feeling he knew what he was going to say.  
  
"Well, sometimes I feel like I've got my old friends back again," Lupin finished with a watery smile, "Especially you, Harry...you're looking more like James every day. I tend to either forget how young you two are, or forget how very, very old I am."  
  
"You're not [I]very, very[/I] old," Harry said, with a grin, "At least not to me."  
  
Lupin chuckled, "Thank you, Harry, for your vote of confidence."  
  
"So what was Snape's problem?" Ron asked.  
  
"Well, I don't know if you get the Sunday Prophet or just the Dailies, but they're tightening down on non-human wizard legislation," Lupin said scowling, "And Snape of course, was all to pleased to point this out to me. Especially seeing as it doesn't affect him in the slightest."  
  
"Why would it?" Harry asked, "I mean, he's a human wizard."  
  
"I know," Lupin said moodily, "All I mean to say is that he likes to rub it in – you know how charming he can be."  
  
"Is that all that's bothering you?" Harry asked suspiciously.  
  
Lupin sighed.  
  
"Draco isn't expelled," he said frankly.  
  
"Damnit!" Ron said, pounding the desk with his fist, "Damnit! It's is father, isn't it? That –"  
  
And he continued to curse a blue streak.  
  
"Ron, use your head," Lupin admonished gently, "Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater. He has no influence in the respectable wizarding community anymore. The Governors have known Malfoy, and hated him, for ages...you may remember he threatened to curse their families a few years back, when he called for Dumbledore to be removed from the school. No, Lucius couldn't get his son off the hook, not directly..."  
  
He leaned back in his chair, and chucked his reading glasses onto his desktop irritatedly, "But Draco has some fortunate circumstances in his favor...or unfortunate, depending on how you look at it. The very fact that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater has created a lot of sympathy for his wife and child, especially since she's still insisting that her husband is innocent...Also, the Governors are increasingly impatient with what they perceive to be a power struggle between the Ministry and the School...they're supposed to be making the decisions, and instead, they're nothing more than glorified referees between Minister Fudge and the Headmaster. But most importantly, the Governors respect Fudge a great deal, both personally, and for his title. And the Malfoy family has always been in good with Fudge - apparently they don't want to [I]offend[/I] the Minister," Lupin concluded with disgust, "By expelling Draco."  
  
"So kicking Draco Malfoy out of school for [I]assaulting[/I] Hermione," Harry said hotly, "would offend Cornelius Fudge?"  
  
"In a word, yes," Lupin sighed, "Even though Lucius is no longer a school Governor, and even though he's disgraced in the wizarding world, some things never change. And let it never be said that Lucius Malfoy isn't well connected. Fudge and the Malfoy family have been close for ages. Probably because of Malfoy's [I]philanthropical[/I] nature."  
  
Ron furrowed his brow.  
  
"Means he's giving Fudge a lot of Galleons," Lupin added, as an afterthought.  
  
"I know what 'philanthropical' means!" Ron muttered, "I'm just...angry."  
  
"I know," Lupin said helplessly, "I feel the same way, Ron. But what can we do? The power to expell Malfoy lies with Snape. And his hands are tied to a certain extent as well. Fudge doesn't want him expelled...Therefore, the Governors don't want him expelled...Precedent is against Dumbledore – he's always tried to avoid expulsion. And how would it look to Lord Voldemort if Professor Snape goes ahead and expells Lucius Malfoy's son?"  
  
"I don't care how it would look," Harry said stubbornly.  
  
"Harry," Lupin said patiently, "These are the kind of small sacrifices that are required in order to obtain a higher goal...Right now, it's more important that Severus...er, Professor Snape, not blow his cover. And for Dumbledore to override the Governors would look very poor indeed."  
  
"Why would it look very poor indeed?" Ron asked.  
  
"It's like I said, the school's getting a bad reputation," Lupin said, massaging the bridge of his nose, "As if we didn't have enough to worry about. Hiring 'dangerous' half-breeds, ignoring the Ministry's orders...Dumbledore's got to pick and choose when he's willing to toe the line, so that when it really counts, he can get away with doing what he pleases. Besides," Lupin concluded, "No student has ever been thrown out for causing a fight. They usually just get detention, which is what Malfoy got."  
  
"Causing a fight?!" The desk clattered to the side as Ron jumped to his feet, "Causing a [I]fight?![/I]"  
  
Lupin held up a restraining hand, "That's what the Governors decided happened that day. I don't like it any better than you two...but there it is. Malfoy started a fight with Hermione which got out of hand, and he's gotten detention for it. A simple fight between schoolmates."  
  
"Did they happen to mention he was trying to figure out who my Secret Keeper was?" Harry scowled.  
  
"They elected to ignore that particular bit of information," Lupin said, disgustedly, "And the fact that Hermione was just minding her own business. Of course, the fact that she's Muggle born doesn't count for much with the Purebloods on the panel. Very selective hearing, the Governors. No, they'd rather bury their heads in the sand. It's easier to make it go away if it's just a schoolyard fight."  
  
"Can't the Order do something about it?" Ron added angrily.  
  
Lupin gave Ron a look, and continued as gently as possible. "Ron, the Order is doing everything in its power to determine the whereabouts and plans of the Dark Lord himself...We can't divert time, operatives, and energy into getting Draco Malfoy expelled, however much we want to punish him for what he did. Tell you what," he said his expression brightening a bit, "Why doesn't the D.A. keep an eye on him for us?"  
  
"Don't worry, we will," Harry said quietly.  
  
"Come to that, any news from the Order?" Ron added.  
  
"Not much," Lupin said with a frown, "And the news we have is troubling."  
  
"Troubling how?" Harry asked tentatively.  
  
"Well...Kingsley's disappeared."  
  
"What??"  
  
"Yes," Lupin said, scowling at his desk, and toying with a quill, "It's not as uncommon as you'd think. Many people in the Order don't know what the others are up to, so sometimes one or two members will disappear for a week or so and then return...You know, reconnaissance missions, public relations, a little espionage...Hagrid, for example, apparently went off to the mountains last summer with Madame Maxime...only just found out recently, myself. I had a feeling that's what he might've been up to, but my point is, you never really know."  
  
"Thing is," he continued, and Harry could see the circles were quite dark under his eyes, "Kinglsey hadn't reported in to Headquarters in quite a while...He'd been to work, Tonks confirmed it, but he seemed...odd. And then, then other night, he turns up with Fudge...Minister Fudge," he corrected himself.  
  
"You don't need to bother on our account," Ron said, "We all know he's a git."  
  
"These things are important, Ron," Lupin said, "Always afford your enemies the respect they deserve. Like it or not, he [I]is[/I] the Minister. Disrespect leads to letting your guard down."  
  
"Right," Harry said, impatiently, "So, Kingsley?"  
  
"I'm getting there," Lupin scolded gently, "He turns up with Fudge, and still doesn't report in to Headquarters that night. Now, he hasn't shown up for work. No word."  
  
"Well, it [I]is[/I] Sunday," Ron said.  
  
Lupin smiled. "Aurors tend to be work-a-holics. They don't frequently take the weekend off. And Kingsley simply doesn't miss work. Ever. No, something's definitely wrong. Even Dumbledore seems concerned."  
  
Lupin sighed heavily, "We're fearing the worst. This is the way Lord Voldemort operated when he was in power. Less overt killing, but plenty of 'disappearances.' And lots of Imperius curses floating about."  
  
"You think that Kingsley..."  
  
"We don't know," Lupin said simply, "I know I must sound like a broken record, but you see, in these times, knowledge is power...and at the moment, only Lord Voldemort knows what Lord Voldemort is plotting. Despite our best efforts, he's holding all the cards."  
  
They left Lupin's classroom after a while, feeling much more dejected than when they'd gone in. Harry felt as though he might never see Lupin smile again...He wondered vaguely whether that was just Lupin, or whether it was the world itself that was sad? He remembered Lupin's parting words on the platform, telling him to play Quidditch, and kiss a pretty girl – to find the happiness even in the dark.  
  
"Your father was good at that," Lupin's voice echoed in his head. Harry smiled to himself. 


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

Fortunately, with so much to distract him, two weeks absolutely flew past in a blur of classes, homework, Quidditch practice, DA meetings, and two sets of Occlumency lessons. Harry thought for sure that he'd go mad before the end of the year. How had Hermione done it third year?  
  
"With a Time-Turner," he reminded himself.  
  
What he wouldn't give to borrow one of those...he had a feeling though, that Professor McGonagall would be far less likely to indulge his request for one, knowing his reputation for trouble...  
  
Occlumency with Snape was becoming especially onerous. If anything, Snape was worse now. He'd stopped the smirking and the snide comments, but preferred instead to make his probing attacks into Harry's past fiercer and fiercer. Every time Harry felt as though he were getting better at shutting Snape out, it seemed he stepped up the strength of his attacks, and became increasingly adept at locating especially painful or embarrassing memories. Harry always left Snape's office feeling woozy and exhausted.  
  
By far though, the most interesting classes during those two weeks were Care of Magical Creatures.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had trudged over to Hagrid's hut with the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors, Ron and Hermione having another row, as usual. Harry was only dimly aware of their bickering – he'd gotten quite adept at tuning it out, probably due to his Occlumency lessons, he had to begrudgingly admit. All the rest of the Gryffindors had formed a tight knot around them, shooting evil glares at the Slytherins as they walked by.  
  
"Mornin'!" Hagrid roared cheerfully, as they arrived at the homely Gamekeeper's Hut.  
  
Harry had seen quite a bit in his short lifetime, and it was rather difficult to surprise him. But he reflected, after he'd stopped short and several other students had plowed into his back, that Hagrid had certainly managed it.  
  
Hagrid was sitting on his front steps, one ankle slung casually over his knee, across from Professor Lupin, while Firenze stood calmly sipping a mug of tea that Hagrid had offered. To top it off, Griphook, the goblin from Gringott's bank stood slightly off to the side, apparently having scowlingly declined his tea, one hand clutching his pocketwatch. From Hagrid's ruddy complexion (and the fact that Lupin didn't seem to have drunk any of his), Harry had a feeling there was a bit more than tea in those mugs.  
  
"Righ'!" Hagrid continued cheerfully, in a voice just a bit-too-loud-for- class, "Thought we'd 'ave a bit of a chat today...sort of a round discussion."  
  
"Round table discussion," Lupin corrected, almost inaudibly. He caught Harry's eye and gave him a wink.  
  
"Righ'!" Hagrid said, totally unfazed, "One o' those. Abou' the Ministry of Magic, and their Beast an' Being divisions, an' all their laws an' whatnot."  
  
"Oh!" Hermione gasped quietly, and Harry saw that her eyes were dancing.  
  
"Now!" Hagrid said, wagging a beefy finger at his students, "Oo's done their readin' in Fantastic Beasts?"  
  
Hermione's hand shot up.  
  
"Righ'! 'Ermione, o'course," Hagrid said with another wink, "Knew you would've. Now, wha' can you tell us abou' the Beast and Being Divisions?"  
  
"We've already covered this," came a snotty drawl from the back of the class. Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy standing there, still sporting the faint trace of a black eye.  
  
"In Defense. We talked about it for [I]half the class[/I] with the werewolf," Draco said snidely.  
  
"Tha's [I]Professor[/I] Lupin," Hagrid growled, uncrossing his legs as though making to stand, "An' you'd do well to mind yer manners when we 'ave guests..."  
  
"It's fine, Hagrid," Lupin said, placing what was, comparatively, a tiny hand on Hagrid's knee.  
  
"We had been hoping, Mr. Malfoy, to go into the subject in more depth today. That is, of course, if it's alright with you?" Lupin asked coolly, the faintest hint of mocking in his voice. The Gryffindors chuckled to themselves.  
  
"Waste of bloody time," Malfoy muttered under his breath. Harry's blood began to boil.  
  
"You're lucky you're even here," Harry thought murderously, "You're lucky Ron and I don't—"  
  
"Now!" Hagrid bellowed, his former half-drunken cheer returned, "Why don' we get back to it, then?"  
  
"It would certainly be advisable," Griphook the goblin said, checking his pocketwatch and taking no pains to disguise his displeasure, "I [I]am[/I] taking time away from the bank to be here today, Hagrid."  
  
"Righ', sorry," Hagrid said hurriedly, "Errr...Firenze, why don' you start us off?"  
  
"Of course," Firenze said in his sonorous, dignified voice, "Who amongst you knows whether centaurs are in the Beast or the Being Division?"  
  
No one answered. Harry felt a bit uncomfortable – it seemed awfully pretentious of the Ministry to try and decide whether Firenze was a "Beast" or a "Being." Even Hermione didn't raise her hand. Malfoy, however, seemed to know the answer.  
  
"Beasts," he said abruptly, "The centaurs are considered by the Ministry of Magic to be [I]beasts.[/I]"  
  
Hagrid again seemed as though he was going to stand, but Lupin simply patted his knee again.  
  
"You've gotten close to the mark, Mr. Malfoy, but as usual, your own prejudices make you blind to the truth," Firenze said calmly. There was no hint of anger or recrimination – and it made Malfoy look like an absolute git. He must have realized it, because he scowled, and developed a sudden interest in the grass at his feet.  
  
Harry was secretly impressed – he now understood what McGonagall had been telling him about keeping his temper. If only he could be more like Firenze...  
  
"Please, sir?" Hermione said, raising her hand, "The Ministry invited centaurs into the Being Division in 1811, but they refused."  
  
"Refused!" Ron said, surprised, "Why?"  
  
"Because it is not for human wizards to define a centaur," Firenze said, and for the first time, Harry heard a hard edge underneath his implacable calm, "Because it is not for the Ministry to pick and choose between the races, deciding which should have access to the same rights we all deserve. And most importantly, because we centaurs feel that there is no shame in being a Beast...that there is honor and dignity in every living thing, and that all should be afforded respect from the wizarding community."  
  
"Hear, hear!" Lupin said, with a warm smile.  
  
Hermione got a strange look on her face, and raised her hand.  
  
"'Ermione?" Hagrid said, pleased.  
  
"Out of curiosity, where do merpeople fall?"  
  
"Beast," Firenze said, calmly, "Again, out of their own choosing."  
  
"And werewolves?"  
  
"Ah, now I can field that," Lupin said pleasantly, and several of the Gryffindors laughed. Malfoy cursed under his breath, and kicked up a divot of dirt in his temper.  
  
"There are currently two Departments for Werewolves at the Ministry," Lupin said, "The Registry and Capture Unit is in the Beast Division, while the Werewolf Support Services office is in the Being Division. You can guess which I feel is most effective," Lupin said darkly. Several Gryffindors laughed uncomfortably.  
  
"It's not a laughing matter," Firenze said calmly, "Many werewolves, after being repeatedly detained, subjected to unnecessary brutality during capture, interrogation, discriminatory legislation – they become bitter. They begin to hate humanity, and think of themselves as separate beings – the disjoint between their super-human, physical superiority and their day- to-day subjugation becomes more and more intolerable. They stop taking precautions. People have been hurt. Both werewolf and human alike."  
  
Harry felt abashed. The class had gone very quiet.  
  
"It's alright, Firenze" Lupin said a bit embarassed, "I'm sure they didn't mean anything...They just hadn't thought about it before."  
  
"That," Firenze said calmly, "Is the most frequent complaint our kind have with the wizarding community as a whole."  
  
Hermione had raised her hand again.  
  
"Please sir...where do vampires fall?" she added casually.  
  
"Ah!" Hagrid said, his eyes lighting up, "Now [I]tha's[/I] a good question! Wasn' there jus' some new legislation, Pr'fessor Lupin, the one tha—"  
  
"Yes," Lupin said, interrupting him, "But the Ministry's general policy for the past fifty years or so is not to interfere with vampires, just the same as they tend to ignore centaurs and merpeople for the most part."  
  
"Is my presence here entirely necessary?" Griphook asked, this time holding his watch up for Hagrid to see.  
  
"Blimey! Sorry, Griphook, fergot you was there!" Hagrid said cheerfully. From the look on Griphook's face, Harry surmised this was about the worst thing Hagrid could have said.  
  
"Please, take the floor," Firenze said, stepping back.  
  
For a while, Griphook lectured them on the goblin wars, and their struggles against prejudice in the wizarding community – Harry thought he recognized some of it from History of Magic, but he was also surprised to hear that their involvement in banking wasn't limited to Gringott's long history – apparently they had been moneylenders to wizards since the Renaissance, if not earlier. They had therefore been falsely depicted as sneering, scheming, money-grubbing degenerates, which led to great discrimination and prejudice from the wizarding community throughout history, even leading to goblin lynchings, and systematized extermination of goblin communities, especially during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.  
  
"It has been the cause of much discord between our races. If we express our anger, we are seen as bitter. If we ingratiate ourselves, we are seen as self-effacing, servile. If we express our pain, we are seen as weak, whinging...seeking attention and special treatment from the wizarding community."  
  
"Magism is like the bars of a birdcage," Lupin added, "No matter where you turn, no matter what you do, there is an equal and opposite bar in your way."  
  
"It's like, 'Yer damned if'n ye do, an' yer damned if'n ye don''" Hagrid added, nodding wisely.  
  
"We are mistreated by human wizards," Griphook said, "Because we remind them that 'humanity' is not the sole property of humans," Griphook said.  
  
"The very word is offensive," Firenze said, pawing the ground.  
  
"What, 'humanity?'" asked Dean uncomfortably.  
  
"Because it defines having a soul as strictly human," Firenze said sternly, "It's blatantly magist. The centaurs, like many others, do not wish to be considered as 'partly human' because we have souls, or because we are somewhat similar in appearance. We are Beasts, and proud to be so."  
  
"'Yet if you prick us, do we not bleed?' " Lupin quoted with a slight smile. All three non-humans chuckled dryly under their breath, as though they really didn't think this was funny at all.  
  
"Righ'," Hagrid said, noting the students' confused expressions, "Tha's sort of an in-joke between non-humans...Lupin, why don' you tell 'em about it?"  
  
Lupin gave Hagrid a startled look. Harry thought that even Firenze seemed surprised, though it was hard to read his impassive expression.  
  
"I'm not sure..." Lupin said, eyeing the students out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"They're alrigh'," Hagrid said, "They're sixth years now...Migh' as well know how the world works."  
  
Lupin nodded and cleared his throat, "Well, in the mid-sixties, there was a rather highly publicized trial of a werewolf...Murder trial. He'd tied himself up before the full moon, but had somehow clawed himself free, and run amok. Now, at that time, the Werewolf Capture Unit was at the height of corruption. They hated werewolves with a passion, and were less concerned with detaining them than with beating them within an inch of their lives," Lupin said.  
  
Harry was surprised to hear the anger in Lupin's voice, and a little frightened – Lupin seldom got angry. Hagrid was nodding with a concentrated scowl, his bearded chin tucked nearly to his chest.  
  
"Well, this night they took it a bit too far. And the werewolf in question killed one of the wizards on the Werewolf Capture Unit."  
  
"Self defense!" Hagrid bellowed, and the class jumped a bit, "They were murderin' 'im!"  
  
"Part of his defense," Lupin continued sadly, looking over them as though seeing into the past, "Was that the Capture Unit had been baiting him, that a lot of the blood found at the scene was his own. The judge, unconvinced, wondered whether werewolves even [I]could[/I] bleed, once they had transformed."  
  
Lupin drew a slow breath, "He looked the judge right in the eye, he stood up, and he said...well, you know. As you can imagine," Lupin continued briskly, "It was quite a day for the entire wizarding world, and briefly became something of a cultural phenomenon. It was simultaneously a challenge and a rallying call to the entire wizard community, human and non- human alike – wake up, take notice."  
  
He paused, "I had just gotten the bite myself, and I was terrified – My parents explained it to me, and I watched it on the front page of the Daily Prophet, over and over...He was...the angriest...and the saddest man I'd ever seen. I still have it tucked away in my papers somewhere."  
  
Harry recognized his gentle, pained smile – it was the same reminiscent expression he had whenever he talked of Sirius, or his parents – part happy, part sad.  
  
"I was just a colt," Firenze said calmly, "I overheard our herd Elders debating whether or not to get involved. When I had to choose whether or not to leave my herd, it was one of the reasons I chose to come teach at Hogwarts."  
  
"I was there," Griphook said. The other professors turned to look at him, surprised, "Our local Goblin Tellers Union went to the courthouse in protest."  
  
Harry was impressed – he'd never imagined that all the non-human magical Beings had ever been so united in a common goal. He thought of the Fountain of Magical Bretheren at the Ministry, thought how crestfallen Cornelius Fudge had been to see it shattered and toppled. Harry had a feeling it wasn't just the fountain that Fudge saw crumbling.  
  
"You have to understand – it was a different time," Lupin said, a vague smile on his face, "It was the late sixties – the whole world was changing, the magical one as well. It suddenly seemed that social progress was really possible...groups throughout the magical world were uniting."  
  
"What happened?" Harry asked, "Did the werewolf get off?"  
  
They all heaved a collective sigh.  
  
"The judge, it seems, had a sense of irony," Lupin said, slowly. He paused, and his brow furrowed, as though he didn't want to tell them, "He told him that in light of his unusual defense, he was issuing an unusual sentence. He could either serve a life sentence in Azkaban, or cut off a pound of his own flesh."  
  
Hermione gasped out loud, along with several other students, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike.  
  
"He never intended him to actually do it," Lupin added hurriedly, "It was just his response to that particular quote. The Merchant of Venice, of course. He'd been embarrassed, so he took what he'd said, and flung it back at him. No, it was the nature of it...Cruel. Unsympathetic. He died in Azkaban, just a few months later."  
  
The whole class was quiet. Even Malfoy seemed to have stopped ignoring the conversation.  
  
"But it wasn't his fault!" Hermione shouted, visibly shaken, "A werewolf can't help what he does once he transforms!"  
  
"Ah, and that defense has been used for hundreds of years," Lupin said, "The problem is, most courts find that it is the werewolf's responsibility to take adequate precautions regarding his condition. And I happen to agree with that ruling," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"But the evidence in this case was problematic. When the rope was examined further, it was found that it hadn't been randomly torn to shreds, as it first seemed...all the lengths of rope were equal. That means the rope was severed in one place, and one place only...not in five places."  
  
"So what?" Draco asked, "What's so important about five places?"  
  
Lupin held up his fist, and one by one unclenched his fingers.  
  
"One, two, three, four, five." There was a long pause. "The rope was cut, but not by the claws of a werewolf."  
  
"So maybe he only used one claw!" Draco said argumentatively.  
  
"It is not in the nature of a werewolf to be [I]precise,[/I] Mr. Malfoy," Lupin said coldly, "Particularly not when angered."  
  
"So that means the werewolf hadn't escaped at all!" Hermione shouted angrily, "Someone freed him!"  
  
"And once he was free," Harry said, with a sinking feeling, "The Capture Unit had the right to kill him."  
  
"So who set him free?" Ron asked.  
  
"Nobody knows. Some suspected that the Capture Unit freed him themselves. Some suspect it was an enemy of the man who was murdered, but that's doubtful," Lupin said, shaking his head, "After all, there was no way of telling who the werewolf would attack. The real tragedy is that this was all brought to light after the trial. And of course, it was too late for an appeal," he added darkly, "The dementors made sure of that."  
  
There was long pause. Harry could tell they were all thinking the same thing. How could such a thing happen? Who would allow it? And could it happen again today?  
  
"But, it [I]has[/I] gotten better," Lupin said, forcing himself to sound brighter, "Shortly after, concerned wizards started the Werewolf Support Services, and the centaurs and merpeople were reinvited to join the Being division."  
  
"We, of course, continued to refuse," Firenze said calmly, "But the gesture was appreciated, if misguided."  
  
"It's not as idyllic as we'd hoped...And again, we find the wizarding community divided on itself. But that's where you all come in, we hope," Lupin finished brightly, "I suppose that's why Professor Hagrid invited us all today."  
  
"In case you were wondering," Griphook said, holding up his pocketwatch, "We've run over. By quite a bit."  
  
"Blimey!" Hagrid said, spilling his tea in his alarm, "Off with ye, off with ye! Run along! Or I'll 'ave to write you all excuses!"  
  
"You know, that's not a half-bad idea," Ron said eagerly, but Hermione and Harry were already tugging at his sleeves.  
  
Later, Harry discussed the lesson with Hermione and Ron.  
  
"Maybe that's it," Harry murmured excitedly, trying to lean in close and walk without bumping into them, "Maybe that's the Divide Lupin was talking about that he wants me to heal."  
  
Hermione wrinkled her nose, "Maybe, Harry. But it could be the Divide between the houses – I think that's much more likely."  
  
"Or the Divide between you and You Know Who," Ron added.  
  
"Hmm...that's more like a connection, really," Hermione said thoughtfully, then quickly corrected herself at a baleful glance from Harry, "Well, a sort of connection. Partly a Divide, really."  
  
"Well, the real point is, [I]how?[/I]" Ron asked, "Whatever he's supposed to be doing, it all sounds pretty impossible. How is Harry supposed to...what is it...'heal' any of them?"  
  
Harry was quiet – that was an awfully good question, and it caused the knot in his stomach (which had become a nearly permanent fixture ever since the start of the school year) to tighten uncomfortably.  
  
"Maybe I should start by healing the Divide between you two," Harry joked, diverting the subject, "Or have you already asked each other to the Halloween Ball?"  
  
"Of course we haven't [I]asked[/I] each other," Hermione said, as Ron turned scarlet, "I just assumed we were all going together!"  
  
"I dunno," Harry said teasingly, "What if Ron already has a date?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'what if?'" Ron asked indignantly, "And when did this 'party' suddenly become a 'Ball'?"  
  
"Do you, then?"  
  
"Of course not, but it's the principle of the thing..."  
  
"Well if he did, I wouldn't care in the slightest," Hermione said, with her patented sneaking-in-the-corners smile. Harry took a moment to drink her in. She had a way of smiling that made you feel she knew a secret. She looked different, somehow, even just from last year. More confident...way more relaxed. She was actually quite beautiful.  
  
"I love this person," Harry thought quietly.  
  
Harry jerked his head away abruptly, and a he felt a dull flutter of panic.  
  
"What the hell was that?" he asked himself anxiously.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously, "You just did this funny jerky thing with your head."  
  
"Funny jerky thing?" Harry asked, chuckling nervously.  
  
"I know," Ron said chucking Harry in the ribs with his elbow, "You were thinking who [I]you[/I] would want to ask, weren't you?"  
  
Harry felt his face go red, and the knot in his stomach tied itself into several bows.  
  
"Not good," he thought, "Not good. Not good."  
  
"That [I]is[/I] it!" Hermione said laughing delightedly, her white teeth sparkling. She shoved him into Ron, "I bet I know who it is!"  
  
"I bet I do too," Ron said with a grin.  
  
"Hi Harry!"  
  
Harry looked up. Ginny Weasley was pushing a strand of her vivid red hair behind her ear, and clutching her bookbag with her other hand, having just run up to meet them. She was smiling vaguely, and her freckled nose crinkled in confusion.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
Harry turned and saw Hermione arching her eyebrows in that superior, "I know everything" way, and Ron was grinning at him like an idiot.  
  
Harry felt his heart sink straight down to the soles of his feet.  
  
What else could possibly go wrong this year?  
  
But he already knew what he had to do.  
  
"Ginny..." Harry asked tentatively, "We were just...talking about Halloween."  
  
"Oh, really?" Ginny asked, suddenly looking down at her feet coyly. Harry felt a surge of annoyance. Since when was Ginny Weasley shy?  
  
"Not since first year," he realized with a sinking feeling, "When she had a crush on me."  
  
Did Ron [I]really[/I] have to keep grinning like a baboon? Harry kept hearing Fred and George in his head, singing "His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad."  
  
No. He'd put his friends through enough already.  
  
"We're all going in a gang," Harry said finally, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible, "If you want to come with us?"  
  
Ginny looked a little surprised for a moment, but then she beamed, "Yeah, of course! Well," she added casually, "I figured I'd see you guys there anyway."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, "I imagine the whole school's going to be there." He knew it wasn't what she was hoping for, but it was the best he could do right now. It would be cruel to promise more.  
  
"Though, we can't stay too late, of course," Ginny said, a bit of her old spunky self coming back to the fore, "First match with Slytherin's the day after."  
  
"Right," Harry said dully. As if he didn't have enough on his mind.  
  
"What is wrong with them?" Harry asked himself angrily, "I mean, [I]Ginny Weasley?[/I] She's just a [I]kid![/I]"  
  
"Maybe that's all you've ever seen," said a familiar, nasty little voice in his head, "Because that's all you wanted to see. Besides, what's wrong with [I]you[/I]? Hermione is already a better friend than you deserve – and so is Ron for that matter. Are you willing to ruin that forever? Do you want to break Ginny's heart? How much do you want? Just how selfish are you?"  
  
He suddenly realized it was the same voice that had tortured him all summer – he felt guilty. He'd done something wrong...very wrong. He didn't even know for sure what was happening to him, but he knew it was bad, and it was his fault. And now he had to do something right.  
  
Ginny was grinning up at him, her head cocked coquettishly to one side. Harry resisted the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.  
  
"Sounds great," he said, forcing what he hoped was a warm smile. Ginny blushed and smiled back. Hermione was beaming. Ron continued to grin like an idiot.  
  
"Great," Harry thought, his heart shrinking, "So long as everyone's happy." 


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

It was through sheer force of will that Harry was able to return to normalcy for the remainder of the week. He pushed the entire incident out of his head, refusing to dwell on it even for a moment. All of the Occlumency had to have been paying off, because for the most part, he convinced himself entirely that he didn't care one way or the either – that they were all completely platonic friends, that nothing would ever come of this. He ignored Ginny's batting eyelashes, blocked out Hermione and Ron alternately rowing and sneaking glances when the other's back was turned.  
  
"This is ridiculous," he mentally screamed at himself, after Hermione had casually picked some lint off of his uniform, causing an icy stab of panic to cut through his chest, "You have more important things to worry about. Like, I dunno, maybe [I]Lord Voldemort[/I]?"  
  
That cleared his head for a while. The thought of the impending danger to himself, the school, his friends – he reminded himself that Ron was now his Secret Keeper.  
  
"There's more important things," Harry told himself sternly, "They're all your best friends, and that's all that matters. You don't need to worry about anything else right now."  
  
"That's awfully convenient," said the nasty little voice, "Are you going to hide from your own feelings forever, or just until Lord Voldemort kills you? How much time do you think you have?"  
  
"Shut up!" Harry said aloud.  
  
He blinked and looked into the confused faces of his friends. He was sitting at lunch with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna, as usual, and they were all staring at him as though he'd gone mad.  
  
"Sorry," Harry said, "Err-sorry."  
  
"It wasn't..." Ginny asked, going pale.  
  
"Remember, clear your mind," Hermione added sternly, her face nearly as anxious as Ginny's.  
  
"NO!" Harry said, shaking his head, "No, it wasn't...nevermind. Just...stressed out. About the match on Saturday."  
  
Ron snorted, "That inspires confidence."  
  
"Well, you let in that goal this morning," Harry said, and felt guilty even as he said it, "And I was just worrying what Malfoy would say if—"  
  
"Yes, Harry, but I scored that goal," Ginny said, "So really, it's a good sign, too."  
  
"Look, Harry, we've been practicing morning and night, and we've all gotten loads better," Ron said reassuringly.  
  
"Even Ronald," Ginny added sticking her tongue out at her older brother playfully. He returned the favor in his typically mature fashion.  
  
"We're going to mop the floor with Slytherin," Ginny said to Harry, "So don't worry about it."  
  
The finality in her voice was comforting. Harry smiled at his friends.  
  
"It was stupid," he said out loud, with a smile, "I was being stupid. The whole thing was just temporary insanity."  
  
"Right," he repeated mentally, "Temporary insanity."  
  
Hermione smiled, and returned to her lunch. Harry noticed she kept her peas meticulously separate from her potatoes, and smiled. He then cursed himself for having noticed, and crammed a roll in his mouth.  
  
Halloween Day dawned crisp and clear. Throughout the entire day, classes had been a joke – no one was able to concentrate because of the Halloween Ball that night, and the Weird Sisters coming to Hogwarts again. Most of the girls actually skivved off their last classes of the day, so they could start getting ready...Owls kept arriving with hastily scrawled notes – "Terribly ill...please, have Parvati send the assignment via owl..." "Can't stop vomiting, shall get the assignment from Lavender." McGonagall finally threw her hands up in disgust, and dismissed the Gryffindor boys.  
  
"After all," she said dryly, "No sense depriving you of a well-earned sick day just because you're healthy."  
  
Harry also noticed a number of oddly familiar wrappers in the hallway corners, marked suspiciously with three W's...he had a feeling that more than a few Hogwarts students were enjoying some Snackboxes purchased via Owl Order.  
  
Harry had just finished his last class of the day, when one of the school owls swooped down upon him in the hallway, and dropped a note on his head.  
  
"Who's that from, I wonder?" Ron said broadly, elbowing Hermione.  
  
"Shut up, Ron," Harry said in a long-suffering voice. This sent Hermione and Ron into fits of giggles. It was wearing thin.  
  
Harry opened the scroll – it was not, however, from Ginny.  
  
"Dear Mr. Potter – I have foreseen that I will be unable to attend our usual meeting this upcoming Tuesday...the interaction of Mars with Ios, one of Jupiter's moons, makes it a very poor day indeed for Seeing, and I think my time would be better spent grading papers that day."  
  
"Translation," Hermione said wryly, "We're halfway through the first term, and I need to catch up."  
  
Harry continued.  
  
"I was crystal gazing in my study, seeking the solution to the problem, when, to my great surprise, I saw that you were in fact going to conduct your meditation with me today, after school. It is an unavoidable consequence of fate that you will most likely be late to the Ball, and I am sorry for it, but it is our responsibility to meet our destiny. I shall give you ten minutes to set your affairs in order with your friends, and make your way to the tower. Looking forward, Sybill Trelawney. PS, Don't be too upset about the Quidditch match, dear. I'm sure you'll try your best."  
  
"Brilliant," Harry added, crumpling up the scroll ill-temperedly, and putting it in his bag, "Well, I guess I'll meet you at the Ball. Party. Whatever."  
  
"Okay," Hermione said, frowning concernedly, and placing a hand on his bicep, "Are you sure you're alright, Harry? You've been...well, a lot less happy the past couple days."  
  
"I wonder why," Harry said dryly.  
  
He felt hot all over and he prayed his face wasn't turning red. God, that would be awful. He'd never realized how often people touched each other, even in casual conversation.  
  
"You're a bad person," the nasty voice said, "She's worried about you, you idiot! And all you can do is—"  
  
"You're right," she said, "I'm sorry. You've got a lot on your mind. We'll see you at the ball."  
  
"See you later, mate!" Ron grinned, with a roguish wink, "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on Roger Davies for you!"  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, grinning back emptily.  
  
Harry turned his feet to the Divination Tower, already putting his mind on auto-pilot.  
  
In general, meditation with Trelawney wasn't as bad as he'd first thought it would be. Once he'd gotten into the habit of taking deep, cleansing breaths, and clearing his mind, he actually found the hot, quiet room to be somewhat of a sanctuary – if only Trelawney would close her trap for a brief moment. She seemed to have decided that it was her responsibility to lead him through "guided meditations" now, droning in a sing-song voice about walking up mountaintops and consulting your "spirit guide."  
  
And right now, at this very moment, all the Gryffindor boys were laughing and tying ties and cracking jokes. Seamus was making a great performance out of "casually" shaving the little facial hair he had. Dean was trying to determine the fine line between original and weird, while Ron was carefully mussing up his hair, and trying to determine the fine line between "casual" and sloppy. Neville was probably trying pitifully to get his tie even in the mirror...One would think, having worn a school uniform for six years, he'd have mastered it by now.  
  
To his great dismay, the fleeting image came to mind of Hermione, Ginny, Parvati and Lavender in their slips, giggling inanely and fussing with each others' hair, but he pushed it sharply out of his head.  
  
And here he was sitting up here. With Sybill Trelawney.  
  
Harry had a feeling his spirit guide was just as irritated as he was. He heaved a sigh regardless, and decided that as long as he was here, he might as well at least try to clear his mind. It was, after all, what he'd been hoping to do the past few days.  
  
Trelawney had her eyes closed, and was rotating her neck in a wide circle. "...and let the white light bathe you...your spirit guide hands you a book...you open the page to find it is the story of your life..."  
  
"'Once upon a time'," Harry thought calmly, "'Harry was sitting in the Divination room, wishing he was elsewhere...' "  
  
"He encourages you to read ahead...you turn the pages slowly...glimpsing into the near beyond..."  
  
"I see...the Halloween ball," Harry thought, in a mock-prophetic tone, "Ron is skulking about Hermione, Ginny is fending off an entire Quidditch team waiting for me, Luna's wearing a radish on her head, and I'm sitting here alone."  
  
He was surprised to suddenly feel an odd twinge of heartache – he felt the gap between himself and the people around him. Why was he always so alone? So completely separate, even when surrounded by friends?  
  
"And now...release your mind from the cares of today...let it slide out of your control...falling...tumbling..."  
  
Harry's head drooped, and he jerked it upwards again.  
  
"Sliding...tumbling earthwards...."  
  
He was walking down a Hogwarts corridor...Ron was shouting...Harry could hear it echoing off of the walls...just up ahead...torchlight flickering...  
  
"Never!" Ron shouted, but he was panting. Was he tired? Or afraid? "N-never tell you..."  
  
"How [I]noble[/I]" said a sickly sweet, honeyed voice, "But you're going to die either way...surely you knew that? Don't you want to ease your suffering before you go? I can make it quite painless, you know..."  
  
Ron let out a ragged, weary laugh of triumph. "Can't m-make me...tell you," But Harry could hear the underlying panic, the desperate urge to run, to escape the pain...  
  
He tried to reach him, tried to run...why wouldn't his legs work? Why couldn't he reach him? He could just see the back of his Weasley sweater, his mussy red hair...  
  
"Tell me, little hero, was it worth it? The sum total of your mediocre life is about to be thrown away...and all for a boy named Harry Potter. The meaning of your pathetic little existence is entirely defined by someone else. What makes him so special and you so un-special? What makes you willing to be second best, time and time again? Would it be such a crime to give in? Even Harry himself wouldn't begrudge you a painless death..."  
  
"Never...Might as well...kill me," he panted triumphantly.  
  
"Oh, we can do better than that," Bellatrix Black said, her baby voice sweetly menacing, "Now beg, little hero...Beg for death...[I]Crucio![/I]"  
  
Ron fell to the ground, twitching.  
  
Harry's eyes were clouded by a red haze, and there was a high-pitched whine in his ears - this was the woman who had stolen Sirius from him...And now she was after Ron.  
  
"I'll kill you!" The cry ripped from his throat, his legs suddenly working beneath him, charging down the flickering corridor, "[I]I'LL KILL YOU![/I]"  
  
Suddenly, Harry's scar burst into white-hot pain, as though someone had stuck a lightening-shaped brand into his forehead. He fell to his knees.  
  
His knees landed not on the familiar stone hallways of a Hogwart's hallway, but onto smooth marble. Gone was the warm, cheerful torchlight of Hogwarts, replaced by an eerie blue. He was in the Department of Mysteries.  
  
"HHhhaaaaaaaarrrrryyyyyyyy..."  
  
Sirius's voice echoed and bounced off the walls of the blue-torch room. Harry clutched his pounding head in his hands, as though trying to hold it together. When was this going to stop? He couldn't take much more of this.  
  
Suddenly, another voice was in his head. A high, cold voice that sent chills up his spine and turned his arms to gooseflesh.  
  
"You do want him back, don't you?"  
  
Then the same voice...but different somehow...echoing distantly. "I can bring them back, you know..." It was his voice...from first year. He'd just gotten the stone from the Mirror of Erised...  
  
"Or did you think I was lying?"  
  
Harry looked up at the door in front of him. The latch undid itself, and the door swung open an inch or two, with a slow creak. There was an audible sigh of cold air, as though the room were breathing...Harry knew what he would find behind the door...  
  
The cold, stone theater...the veil...  
  
And...  
  
"Mr. Potter!"  
  
"No," he said aloud, "I have to see...I have to see what happens!"  
  
"Tell me what you see!" said Sybill Trelawney, anxiously, joyfully. The Department of Mysteries faded around him, and he was peering up into Trelawney's eyes, grossly magnified behind her spectacles...she was looming down upon him eagerly, incense wafting about the hot attic room.  
  
"Get off!" Harry said, shoving her roughly away, "I've had enough!"  
  
"Tell me what you saw, Harry!" Trelawney insisted.  
  
"NO! I wasn't [I]supposed[/I] to see any of it!" Harry snapped, "That was the whole point! I'm not going to let Him do this to me any more!"  
  
"My dear boy, who? Who?" Sybill asked, her face a mask of horror...yet, at the same time, Harry was disgusted to note how eager she was. This was just the sort of drama she craved –  
  
"Was it –"  
  
"NO!" Harry lied recklessly, "It wasn't Lord Voldemort! It wasn't the Grim, or my dead parents – and it wasn't Father Christmas! I've had enough!"  
  
She'd be only too happy to hear about dead Ron, dead Sirius, Lord Voldemort...no. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.  
  
He turned on his heel, kicked open the trap door, and climbed down the ladder. 


	25. Chapter TwentyFive

Harry's feet pounded the stone hallways, and he panted slightly as he ran towards the Great Hall. He could hear just hear the Weird Sisters shout a muffled question, and corresponding dull roar of the cheering students. A fast paced song with lots of electric guitar started echoing hollowly off the walls. He quickened his pace – he had to find Ron and Hermione...  
  
He was coming down the main staircase, and was just about to cross the foyer to the Great Hall when he heard the door leading out to the Main Gate slammed open on its hinges.  
  
More out of instinct than anything else, Harry threw his back flat against the wall, and waited to see who it was coming round the corner.  
  
Severus Snape stalked into view, beckoning to someone behind him.  
  
"This way," he said, irritatedly.  
  
Harry inched his way backwards up the stairs, and ducked behind a large stone griffin.  
  
Two tall, dark figures wearing hooded cloaks entered following Snape.  
  
"Vot is deh hurry, Severus?" one of them asked in a throaty, sensual woman's voice. She lifted her hood, and Harry actually gasped – she was that beautiful.  
  
She had long, black, curly hair, cherry-red lips, and strong, high cheekbones that were flushed from the cold October wind outside. She was smiling slightly, and Harry could see her perfect teeth glinting whitely in the torchlight, "Can you not show some hospitality ven you haff guests?"  
  
"Or 'ave you no respect for your eldeirs?" said the other, "And your betters?"  
  
He pulled back his hood also, and Harry saw he was also dark-haired, with a widow's peak, a strong Roman nose, and ruddy complexion.  
  
"Durmstrang," Harry thought to himself, "Or the area...judging by her accent...but not him. He sounds like Fleur..."  
  
Snape had stopped abruptly in his tracks. He turned around slowly, and gave them a cruel smile.  
  
"Of course...how rude of me. Mieva Pamira," he announced. Harry thought it might be a spell at first, but then realized that must be this woman's name, "And...sidekick."  
  
"Oh, please excuse," Mieva Pamira said casually, "This is Louis Chauve- Souris."  
  
"Don't bother," Snape said disgustedly, "I [I]won't[/I] remember."  
  
Harry leaned a bit closer – just how exactly did they know each other?  
  
"You're looking [I]well,[/I]" Snape said, and the way he emphasized "well," made Harry think he didn't really mean it at all, "You're positively [I]glowing,[/I] in fact."  
  
"Yes, apologies for beink so late," she said, "But ve vere just so hungry that ve had to stop..."  
  
Harry liked her less and less the more she spoke...she had the same cloying, teasing tone in her voice that Bellatrix Black had.  
  
"Mmmm," Mieva said, licking her lower lip teasingly, and tilting her head to seductively display her neck, "The food in this country is vary good, Severus."  
  
Euugh. Watching a beautiful woman flirt with Snape had just made it onto his list of things he wished he'd never seen. But something about the way she spoke made it clear that she was mocking him at the same time...almost taunting him.  
  
"If you were looking for food," Snape said frostily, through clenched teeth, "Dinner has just begun. [I]Steak.[/I] I'd be only too happy to [I]serve – it – to – you...[/I] Now if you don't mind?"  
  
He turned abruptly on his heel, and led them, fuming, down the hall...Harry snuck down the stairs after they'd passed, and peered around the corner. At the end of the hall, they took a right towards the Headmaster's office.  
  
"What is Snape doing inviting his creepy friends over?" Harry shuddered.  
  
With a jolt, he suddenly remembered the vision he'd just had in Trelawney's office...or was it a dream? Or was it Lord Voldemort...  
  
"Nevermind," Harry told himself, "Find them. Find Ron and Hermione."  
  
He dashed over to the Great Hall, pulled open the heavy oak door and stepped inside.  
  
For a moment, he could hardly see – The Weird Sisters had set up a strobe light and had apparently enchanted all the torches to flash different colors. The tables were arranged in a large rectangle, leaving the center of the room open for dancing. The Weird Sisters were waling away on their instruments on a make-shift stage set up in the corner of the room.  
  
He was momentarily distracted from his search by the appearance of the Weird Sisters themselves – He'd been so nervous at his first Ball, he hadn't gotten a really good look at them. A witch with a broad, toothy grin and short, black pigtails was hammering away at her drum set, while a black witch picked at her bass guitar with a "cool and bored" look on her face. The scrawny blonde witch in front had pink and blue streaks in her hair, a nose stud, and a hemp necklace, and was frowning in concentration as she played a flashy solo on her bubblegum pink guitar – they all wore Hogwarts uniforms and ridiculous shoes. Harry suddenly understood why Tonks was such a fan. Half the school was eating and racing around the tables gossiping, while the other half formed a large, swarming mass of bodies at the foot of the stage.  
  
"Focus," Harry told himself, feeling disoriented. He scanned the crowd, willing himself to find Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Harry!" cried Ginny, bounding up to him. She looked him up and down and laughed. "Didn't you bother to change? You're going to roast. Take those off."  
  
Harry scowled as he was spun awkwardly around in place, Ginny yanking his black school robes off and draping them over the nearest chair. Ginny was wearing blue jeans and a green top that was far too small for her. He had a feeling Mrs. Weasley was unaware of this particular item of clothing.  
  
"Borrowed it," she said, flirtatiously, catching him staring, "from Parvati. Like it?"  
  
"Where's Ron and Hermione," he said urgently, "I've got to tell them something."  
  
Ginny gave him a sarcastic look. "Nice to see you, too. Come on, we've been waiting for you."  
  
"Ginny!" he tried to interrupt, but she couldn't hear him. He let her drag him to the dance floor, and followed as she wormed her way in between people. Being much smaller than he, she had a much easier time of it, and Harry kept getting elbowed and jostled by vigorous dancers. He caught Dean and Seamus out of the corner of his eye, wearing their ties as belts and jumping around trying to bump into as many people as they could.  
  
"HARRY!" bellowed Ron, who suddenly pushed his way around a girl who, from behind, appeared to be wearing jeans and a piece of string, "YOU MADE IT!" The Weird Sisters must have put the Sonorus charm on their instruments, because the sound was deafening.  
  
Ron looked at Harry's school uniform, and laughed out loud. "AT LEAST TAKE OFF YOUR SWEATER!"  
  
"No, RON, YOU DON'T—"  
  
But he and Ginny had playfully grabbed the hem of his Hogwarts sweater and pulled it over his head. Harry yanked the sweater off angrily, emerging from the gray wool with his glasses askew and one shirttail untucked.  
  
"RON!" shouted Harry. But he was talking to the girl next to him wearing a string. She suddenly turned around, and –  
  
All Harry's thoughts suddenly ground to a halt. Hermione was wearing a handkerchief...that had to be the only explanation. A silvery...shiny sort of handkerchief thing, that was tied strategically about her neck and back.  
  
"HARRY!" she beamed.  
  
"[I]Hermione![/I]" Harry said, feeling his face go red, "What are you [I]wearing[/I]?" He began turning his sweater right side out.  
  
"[I]WHAT?[/I]" she hollered, putting a hand to her ear.  
  
"PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!" Harry hollered, thrusting his sweater towards her. She laughed.  
  
"YOU SOUND LIKE MY DAD!" she shouted, "DANCE!"  
  
"NO! LISTEN TO ME!" he said, grabbing her bare arm, "[I]HEY![/I]"  
  
But the song had just ended, and he'd just shouted "HEY!" at the top of his lungs. Several people turned to look at them, and laughed as they applauded for the Weird Sisters.  
  
"Great," Harry thought, "Just perfect."  
  
"Will you three just follow me somewhere where we can actually talk?" Harry muttered under his breath.  
  
"Alright, alright," Ron said, clearly annoyed at losing their spot, "We're coming."  
  
Ginny was scowling as well, but Harry saw that Hermione had a concerned look on her face.  
  
"Good," Harry thought with relief, "Finally."  
  
He led them over the far corner of the room, where Ginny had left his robes. They all leaned into a small huddle.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I was with Trelawney," Harry said, "And my scar hurt, really badly..."  
  
"There we are, then," Harry thought, taking in their reactions. Hermione's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, while Ron and Ginny's faces went pale.  
  
"—and I had another vision – I think it might have been Voldemort..."  
  
But he trailed off. Ron and Hermione were looking at each other sadly, and Ginny was somberly staring at the floor.  
  
"What?" Harry asked, though he had a feeling he already knew.  
  
"It's nothing," Hermione said quickly, "Tell us what you saw."  
  
"No...No, I understand," Harry said slowly, his anger rising, "Raising another false alarm, am I? Well, if it's not a good time, I'll just let you get back to your party then. Sorry to bother you."  
  
"Harry," Ron said abruptly, and Harry was taken aback by the strength of his voice, "Stop being a git, take a deep breath, and tell us what's happening."  
  
Too surprised to do anything else, Harry related the contents of his vision to them, the details spilling out of him in his anxiety.  
  
Ron frowned, "But I'm here now, right? I'm alive, and everything..."  
  
"Go to Dumbledore," Hermione said. She took a deep breath, resignedly, "We'll go with you."  
  
Harry looked at their faces, disappointed but determined, and felt like an absolute heel. All they'd wanted was one night to blow off some steam and enjoy each others' company for once, without threat of sudden death or the doom of wizard-kind.  
  
"It's because of you," the guilty little voice in his head told him, "You only think about your own life, but none of your friends can have normal lives either..."  
  
"No," he said, "I'll go. You enjoy the rest of the Ball."  
  
"Hah! Not likely," Hermione said, with wry laugh.  
  
"Try anyway," Harry said, his gaze falling on Ginny. She was trying to save a brave face, but he could tell she was crushed.  
  
"Your fault," said the nasty little voice, "Your fault!"  
  
"Look, it's like Ron said. You're all here now...and you're safe. In the vision, Ron was in a corridor, not the Great Hall, and there was no dance, and you were dressed differently – I think we're safe for now, at least until I can go tell Dumbledore."  
  
He paused, and took a deep breath.  
  
"Why does this always happen?" he asked aloud, with a glance at Ginny's down turned face.  
  
Ron shrugged helplessly, "Because it's you, mate. Sorry."  
  
"I'm sorry, Ginny," Harry said.  
  
She didn't seem to want to talk, but she nodded briskly and smiled as though to say, "It's fine, no problem." It melted the last traces of his anger and frustration.  
  
"Go!" Hermione said.  
  
Harry turned, pushed through the oak doors, and ran towards the Headmaster's office. 


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

Harry arrived panting at the stone gargoyles in front of Dumbledore's office.  
  
"Oi, look 'oo it is," said one of them, gruffly, "Another [I]emergency,[/I] is it?"  
  
"Actually...hff...Yes, it is," Harry said, panting. He'd done quite a bit of running today...  
  
"Sorry," said the other one, "Headmaster's in an important meeting. Not to be disturbed."  
  
"Oh, Fizzing Whizby! Cotton candy! Ice Mice! Whatever it is!"  
  
But Ice Mice had done the trick, and the surly gargoyles were forced to scowl as the stone door opened slowly.  
  
"How d'ye like that? Veritable swinging door, this place."  
  
"Don't know why he bothers with [I]us[/I]!" said the other gargoyle with a surly expression.  
  
Harry took the stone steps two at a time, a stitch starting to form in his side. He heard Snape's oily voice.  
  
"...that is, if you're confident they can [I]restrain[/I] themselves."  
  
He reached the top step.  
  
"Headmaster!"  
  
They all jumped a bit, and wheeled about, but Harry was gratified to see that Snape especially looked frightened. However, that was quickly translated into anger...  
  
"What precisely do you think you're [I]doing[/I], Potter!" Snape bellowed furiously, and it was Harry's turn to jump, "Did it not occur to you that the Headmaster might have [I]private[/I] business of a more pressing nature than...just [I]why[/I] are you here?"  
  
Harry eyes flicked over to Mieva Pamira and Louis Chauve-Souris – he didn't fancy telling them what he'd seen...how could he know they'd be trusted.  
  
"Harry?" Dumbledore said, avoiding his eye, "Please tell us what the matter is."  
  
Harry felt angry at first – he wasn't going to start ignoring him again? Then he remembered that Dumbledore was only being careful to avoid contact with Lord Voldemort.  
  
"Oh yeah," he thought sadly, "I'm dangerous."  
  
He turned his eyes instead to Snape.  
  
"I...I had a bad dream," he said, meaningfully, "And a really bad [I]headache[/I]...and I needed to talk to someone about it."  
  
Mieva Pamira laughed, and Louis looked at him as though he were quite pathetic. Harry felt his face flush, but it was the best code he could think of on short notice. Snape's face, as usual, was impassive. Now, however, thanks to the continued Occlumency, Harry was able to note the subtle cues...the slight strain in the creases of his eyes, the dilation of his pupils...he knew Snape was trying to read his thoughts, sniffing them out for the truth...  
  
"Such a serious young boy!" Mieva said in her deepy, syrupy voice. To Harry's horror, she leaned over, ruffled his hair, and put a finger under his chin, "Did you haff a nightmare?"  
  
"Really, Dumbledore, eet's...[I]charming[/I] zat ze students sink of you somesink like a grandfazzer, but perhaps—"  
  
"If you would be so kind," Dumbledore said politely, "As to excuse us for just a moment?"  
  
There was a slight pause. It was clear that Mieva Pamira was unaccustomed to being ousted by a sixteen year old boy.  
  
"Excuse, please," she said, laughing slightly, "You vere talking to?...the boy, yes?"  
  
"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said apologetically, "You see, as Headmaster, I have to make the students my first priority. I'm sure this will only take a few moments, and then I will be able to devote my undivided attention to you," he concluded warmly.  
  
A lot of the beauty had left Mieva Pamira's face, and she was scowling rather viciously.  
  
"In the interim, perhaps I can arrange for some warm beverages to be brought up from the kitchens?" he asked, slyly.  
  
"I don't think a cup of tea is going to do the trick," Harry thought, glancing at Mieva's murderous expression. But already she seemed to be thinking it over.  
  
"Vary well," she said with a slight sneer, "Ve will be vaitink."  
  
They left the office, and walked down the stone steps. Dumbledore waited until the stone door ground to a close.  
  
"Thank you for coming here so quickly, Harry," Dumbledore said, still avoiding his eye, "Now when did your scar hurt?"  
  
"This afternoon," Harry said, gratitude filling his chest. As implacably, irritatingly calm as he could sometimes be, Harry never needed to waste unnecessary explanations on Professor Dumbledore.  
  
"I was in meditation with Trelawney. Err, Professor Trelawney."  
  
Snape's eyebrows raised slightly. Harry felt a bit guilty – ought he to have mentioned that?  
  
"And...err...well, I fell asleep."  
  
Snape smirked slightly, and looked away.  
  
"Understandable," Dumbledore said, "And your scar began to hurt?"  
  
Harry paused. "No...actually, no, it wasn't hurting yet."  
  
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, and interlaced his long fingers under his chin, looking at a point on the floor about a foot to Harry's left.  
  
"And what did you see?"  
  
"Well," Harry began, "I was walking down a corridor at Hogwarts...when I heard Ron-"  
  
"Professor Snape," Dumbledore interrupted in a friendly voice, "I wonder if perhaps you will attend to those hot beverages?"  
  
Snape scowled, "I don't think...what I have to offer them, will not suffice. They will be offended."  
  
"It will have to do," Dumbledore said, "Perhaps the kitchens might have more?"  
  
Snape wrinkled his nose uncomfortably.  
  
"Where have I seen that expression before?" Harry thought, "He looks almost...squeamish."  
  
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, and there was the slightest note of finality in his voice. Snape scowled, walked over to a portrait of a tall wizard with one arm on a bookshelf, pushed it so it swung open, and closed it behind him.  
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Harry. Do continue."  
  
Harry told Dumbledore all about Ron being tortured, how Bellatrix planned to kill him. How his scar had suddenly hurt, and how he'd found himself at the Department of Mysteries again.  
  
"Most of the time," Harry said, hesitantly, "I've just...I've just been having regular nightmares about it. About...the Department of Mysteries."  
  
Dumbledore lowered his head slightly. Harry felt his face go red.  
  
"But this time," he added hurriedly, "My scar hurt, and it was different...I heard...Lord Voldemort. He told me...he could bring back my parents. And Sirius."  
  
He hadn't said his name in a while, and it still caused a lump in his throat. He felt foolish standing in front of the Headmaster like this. Maybe he was just a 'serious' little boy having nightmares. Surely the Headmaster didn't want to be bothered by this nonsense...and neither did his friends, for that matter.  
  
"Well, Harry, there are several possibilities as I see it," Dumbledore said slowly, "One, the most obvious, is that Lord Voldemort is still trying to carry out a campaign of mental subterfuge, luring you into a trap with this promise. I can assure you, however, that there is no magic spell known to man that can bring people back from the dead. And if there was," Dumbledore said, leaning in and smiling warmly at Harry's ear, "I don't think your parents, or Sirius would want you using it."  
  
Harry nodded mutely, but something tightened in his chest.  
  
"How do you know what they'd want? How do [I]I[/I] know, for that matter, since they all got taken away from me?"  
  
"The other possibility," Dumbledore continued, "Is that you are simply having nightmares. And Harry, no one...no one would begrudge you that right. Whatever anyone else thinks, you know in your heart that you are brave. The Sorting Hat knew, and everyone in the Order knows. You have faced true horrors these past few years, and to have nightmares about them seems a very logical thing to do, in my opinion."  
  
"Right," Harry said, anxious to shift the topic of conversation, "Is there another possibility?"  
  
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, and stroked his long beard.  
  
"Perhaps...perhaps your lessons with Trelawney have not been entirely in vain," he said, bemusedly, "Perhaps, Harry, limited though it may be, you are able to use the Sight."  
  
"Me? A Seer?" Harry said abruptly, "I'm awful at Divination. Besides, I don't do the...the scary voice thing that Trelawney does."  
  
"No, I didn't say you were a Seer, Harry," Dumbledore said, "Using the Sight is obviously not one of your fortes, if you'll pardon my saying so. But many wizards possess some limited ability to see into the future. It is rare that they are able to control this ability, or to make any use of it at all. Even once they do, the little glances they receive are mere potentialities, and often laden with symbolism and double-meanings. For a sixteen year old wizard to be able to correctly interpret the little glances he receives...well. We all know you are a talented wizard, Harry," Dumbledore said with an indulgent smile at his right ear, "But I don't think we need to worry about you becoming a Seer overnight."  
  
Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He hoped that nothing he'd seen the other night was a glimpse of the future...However distorted it might be.  
  
But Dumbledore was smiling at him.  
  
"A man can always change his future, Harry. And besides, we really have no evidence that your first vision was anything more than a nightmare."  
  
Harry frowned. He hadn't been expecting the Headmaster to take this so lightly.  
  
"Well...what can we do about it," Harry added slowly, "Just in case?"  
  
"Well, Harry, perhaps you're the best person to answer that," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair again.  
  
"Me?" Harry asked, his jaw dropping, "But...you're...you! You're...Dumbledore! Surely, you know what—"  
  
But he trailed off at the sad look on Dumbledore's face.  
  
"Harry, both as Headmaster, as Head of the Order, and as someone who cares about you, it has been my goal for six years now to keep you and your friends safe...and I fear, that I have not done a very good job of it."  
  
"Of course you have," Harry said, feeling guilty.  
  
"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "I have done the best I can, but it is not nearly good enough, Harry. You've been put into mortal peril more times than I can count on one hand, and that is far too many times for a sixteen year old boy. However, I seem to have run out of ideas. You are at Hogwarts, where I, and the other members of the Order can keep an eye out for you and your friends...the castle itself is under inumerable spells of protection...You have an excellent Defense teacher this year, and I assume you are continuing the D.A...I could send you home, of course," he said, his brow knitting painfully as he looked up at one of the portraits.  
  
Harry felt his stomach sink. He wanted to shout, to beg, but he knew that Dumbledore was only trying to protect him. Was that really the only place he was safe?  
  
"But that would leave your friends without their strongest defender," Dumbledore concluded, "I could tell you not to play Quidditch, or visit Hogsmeade, of course, but again, I think it is safest if you and your friends stay as close together as possible," Dumbledore said, "It is that, after all, more than anything I've done, which has kept you safe."  
  
There was an irritated pounding on the stone door below. Harry thought he heard the gargoyles' argumentative voices echoing up the corridor. The portrait of the tall wizard suddenly swung open, and Snape entered, carrying a carafe of thick red wine and two glasses.  
  
"Perhaps he oughtn't be here any longer," Snape said pointedly, jutting his chin aggressively at Harry.  
  
"Yes, Harry, I'm afraid I must return to Mieva Pamira and her friend, or risk offending them. And I can't afford to do that at this point," Dumbledore said, distractedly. Harry felt a surge of sympathy for Dumbledore...however much Harry thought he had on his plate, Dumbledore [I]always[/I] had about ten times more.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said, "I just thought you should know."  
  
"You did well, Harry," Dumbledore said reassuring to Harry's hair, "You ought to go back to the party – remember, stay as close to them as you can."  
  
Harry nodded, and walked down the stone staircase. Halfway down, he was met by Mieva Pamira and Louis Chauve-Souris hiking ill-temperedly up to the Headmaster's office.  
  
"Ahh..." Mieva Pamira said, smirking at him, "Feelink any better?"  
  
Harry nodded mutely, trying unobtrusively to get as far away from her as he could.  
  
"Goooood," she crooned, "Run along now...and no more nightmares..."  
  
For once, Harry was only too happy to comply. Something about Mieva and her friend made him feel something creepy was crawling up his back.  
  
Shuddering, he took one or two running steps, and felt the stitch in his side return.  
  
"Right," he thought, "That's quite enough running for one day."  
  
He walked as briskly as he could back to the Great Hall. 


	27. Chapter TwentySeven

Harry arrived back at the Great Hall to find that the party was starting to die down. Dessert had just been served, and most students were seated around the tables laughing and gossiping over Halloween sweets. The Weird Sisters were playing an old standard Harry recognized from the Muggle radio, and several of the die-hard couples were dancing. Harry noted, with a sinking heart, that Ginny Weasley was resolutely shuffling back and forth with some Ravenclaw fourth year, who was stepping on her toes.  
  
He found Ron and Hermione acidly ignoring one another, sitting next to Luna and Neville. Everyone looked flushed and sweaty, and Hermione had put her straggly hair up into a bun. Neville was wearing a poorly tied tie, as expected, and while Luna wasn't wearing a radish, she had decided to wear a tuxedo vest and striped slacks, complete with pocket watch and top hat, which was now sitting on the table. She'd sat herself on Neville's lap, with her legs neatly crossed, and was dreamily stroking his head like a puppy.  
  
Ron chucked Harry a Chocolate Frog without needing to be asked, and gestured vaguely at the couples rocking aimlessly back and forth.  
  
"Come on, mate...tell me that isn't pathetic. Who honestly feels the need to make an idiot of themselves in front of the whole school?"  
  
"Nevermind, Harry," Hermione said briskly, "[I]Ronald[/I] is being an idiot."  
  
Luna cocked her head to the side.  
  
"Not an idiot," Luna said, thoughtfully, "So much as a coward, really." She returned her full attention to Neville who was gazing at her with a goofy, sappy look on his face.  
  
"Err, what is Luna wearing?" Harry whispered quietly to Ron.  
  
"Oh!" Luna said, overhearing, "I'm the Mad Hatter! See?" She nudged her top hat.  
  
"No argument here," Ron muttered under his breath, "Isn't it only Muggles that dress up for Halloween?"  
  
"I thought it would be fun," Luna said, with a playfully arched eyebrow, "What are you pretending to be? A Quidditch player?"  
  
Harry snorted in spite of himself, and earned a glare from Ron.  
  
Hermione sighed impatiently, "Well, I'm dancing with [I]someone.[/I] Come on, Harry."  
  
"Whuh?" Harry said, articulately.  
  
But Hermione had already grabbed his wrist and was dragging him forcibly to the small knot of people near the front of the stage. Harry thought he heard Draco Malfoy's obnoxious laugh from the Syltherin table, and winced. How could Hermione do this to him?  
  
"Because she doesn't know," Harry thought sadly, "She's dancing with her best friend, that's all."  
  
Hermione busily clamped his hands on her waist, put hers around his neck, and glared into the space over his right shoulder.  
  
"Start with your left," she said, grumpily.  
  
"It's not my fault," Harry said, shuffling about awkwardly and trying to count, "that Ron won't dance with you."  
  
Hermione's shoulders went down a few inches, and she smiled at Harry.  
  
"Sorry," she said sincerely, "He just gets under my skin." She blushed a bit.  
  
"Anyway," Hermione said, leaning in closer, "I thought this would be a good opportunity to talk away from Luna and Neville. We can fill Ron in later. What happened with Dumbledore?"  
  
Harry's heart sank even further. Did all girls treat dancing like a business meeting? It was as though they were sitting at the lunch table discussing the Daily Prophet, only their feet just happened to be moving underneath them.  
  
"Nothing, really," Harry said, as reassuringly as he could muster, "He basically just said to stick together, and keep an eye out."  
  
Hermione frowned, "Well that's not totally reassuring."  
  
"Oh!" Harry said, his self-pity suddenly forgotten, "Snape was there...he had a couple people with him..."  
  
Harry lost himself in relating the story. Hermione listened, nodding and punctuating his account with her reactions. For a while, Harry felt like maybe things could be normal again between them – it felt so good just to [I]talk[/I] to Hermione, without having to feel like his feet were too large, or his tongue tying in knots.  
  
"And he was furious when I showed up," Harry said darkly, "Occlumency is going to be extra difficult this Monday."  
  
"Well, he's always had it in for you," Hermione said sympathetically, "At this point, he can't get much worse."  
  
"Miserable old bat," Harry said.  
  
Hermione looked at him strangely, and laughed abruptly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," she said, with her sneaking-in-the-corners smile.  
  
Suddenly, there was some scattered clapping, and Harry and Hermione looked up to realize the song had ended. The Weird Sisters smiled and nodded appreciatively, and before the strains of their last chord could die completely, launched into another song.  
  
Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Ron standing there, his face as red as a beet. Dean and Seamus were back at the Gryffindor table howling with laughter, and Luna appeared to be waving Neville's tie above their heads in encouragement.  
  
Ron couldn't seem to bring himself to look at either of them, but stood there with his arms folded.  
  
"Yes?" Hermione said frostily.  
  
Ron shrugged.  
  
"Well, d'you want to dance, or not?"  
  
Hermione seemed to weigh momentarily the pros and cons – Harry had to admit, even he wasn't so much of an idiot as to expect a girl to dance with him when he asked like that...On the other hand, they both knew how much it had taken for Ron to swallow his pride, walk past the entire school, and ask Hermione to dance.  
  
"Fine," Hermione said coolly, "You do know how?"  
  
Ron looked up at Hermione with a determined scowl, grabbed her about the waist, and they were off.  
  
Harry stood there flabbergasted for a moment. Ron wasn't just rocking back and forth on his trainers like everyone else – he was actually guiding Hermione about the floor...to the beat of the music, no less. The only time Harry had seen Ron this graceful was...well, no, he'd never seen Ron this graceful. He blinked owlishly. What next? Viktor Krum performing with the Royal Ballet?  
  
He could see the Gryffindors running up and down the table gossiping with one another, Parvati and Lavender hiding their laughter behind their hands.  
  
"Let them laugh!" Harry thought with fierce pride, "He's doing great!"  
  
His pride, however, slowly dissolved into an odd sense of panic. Where did he fit in this picture? He suddenly realized it was odd for him to be standing here in the middle of the floor with no partner. He took a few steps over and leaned against the edge of the Ravenclaw table. He glanced over to his right to find Ginny Weasley doing the same.  
  
"Hi," she said simply.  
  
"Hi," Harry said. They both turned to watch as Ron seemed to pull Hermione forward across his chest, elegantly turn her about, and dip her neatly. Harry noticed Hermione had a white-knuckle grip on his shoulder, holding on for dear life.  
  
Ginny chuckled under her breath. "This is killing him, you know that?"  
  
Harry looked at Ron's face – his face was still flushed with embarrassment.  
  
"At least he'll die happy," Harry said wryly. He and Ginny chuckled.  
  
"Where on earth did Ron learn how to do that?" Harry asked.  
  
"Mum," Ginny said simply, "And Dad. We couldn't afford to go out or anything, so in the summer when it was nice out, Dad would take out one of his Muggle things..." Ginny frowned, and tried to depict it with her hands, "A spinny thing...with a big black..."  
  
"Record player?"  
  
"That's the one. And they'd teach all of us in the back yard. It was a nightmare...Percy and Ron got to take turns stepping on my feet."  
  
"What about Fred and George?"  
  
"Mum tried to teach them," Ginny said, smiling as she remembered, "But they just pretended not to get it...they kept tripping each other on purpose, or trying to knock me and Ron over."  
  
Harry looked over and watched Ginny watching her brother dance. She looked happy and sad at the same time...There was a softness in her face that reminded him of someone...  
  
"It doesn't sound like a nightmare," Harry said, looking back at them, "Not to someone who never knew their family."  
  
Ginny laughed abruptly, "You met your family on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Harry, six years ago."  
  
Harry felt his heartstrings tug, and looked at Ginny strangely – this didn't sound like her. This sounded like someone much older.  
  
"I'm sorry I've been a pain," she said, "I know you've got a lot on your mind. I understand what that's like."  
  
Harry suddenly remembered that she'd been possessed by Lord Voldemort during her first year, that she'd nearly died...why did he keep forgetting that?  
  
"It's because of her," Harry reflected, "She acts like it never happened...or like her house never burned down this year...she has a way of just shutting out the bad things..."  
  
"I won't bother you anymore," Ginny said with a smile.  
  
"You're not a bother," Harry said, feeling ashamed.  
  
"Of course I was," she said, laughing, "Or have you forgotten? 'His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad?'"  
  
Harry laughed, and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.  
  
"See? I told you I was a bother," Ginny said, still grinning at him. She suddenly focused on his eyes, and squinted strangely.  
  
"What's wrong with your eyes?"  
  
"I've always worn glasses," Harry said confusedly.  
  
"No, I mean...nevermind," she said blushing, "They just look different in this light, that's all."  
  
She looked away abruptly.  
  
"I really did make her feel awful," Harry thought guiltily.  
  
"Where's Michael?" he asked.  
  
"Oh," Ginny said, "He basically figured it out. That I was never going to fall in love with him," she added, at Harry's puzzled look. She sighed, and smiled.  
  
"Well," Harry said, standing casually, "I may not be as good as Ron, but I promise not to step on your feet."  
  
Ginny smiled, "That's because you don't pick up your feet."  
  
"See? You're safe," Harry smiled, holding out a hand.  
  
For the second time that night, Harry ended up shuffling about awkwardly with a good friend, and not knowing quite how to feel about it. 


	28. Chapter TwentyEight

Later that night, Harry lied awake in bed. Ron had long since started snoring, and he knew he ought to get some rest for the match tomorrow, but the more he reminded himself how necessary it was that he sleep, the less he was able to.  
  
He wanted to clear his mind – he [I]had[/I] to clear his mind, otherwise he'd be easy prey for more "nightmares" or "visions," or whatever Dumbledore had decided they were.  
  
Harry rolled over uncomfortably. What exactly was happening inside his head? There were the visions of Sirius...he'd had nightmares about him all summer. But now...with Lord Voldemort's voice...and his scar [I]had[/I] hurt.  
  
Could Voldemort really bring people back from the dead? It sounded ridiculous.  
  
"But you can kill people," Harry thought, "You can kill people with just a wave of your wand and some magic words." Why couldn't you bring them back just as easily?  
  
His mind wandered back to last year. Hermione had just given him a bowl of essence of murtlap, after a particularly nasty night with Umbridge. His heart tugged in his chest – but he squashed it down. It was the sort of thing any friend would do. He remembered how he'd broken it, in his temper, and repaired the bowl.  
  
"But there's no putting that spilled murtlap back in the bowl," Harry thought sadly, "Just like there's no returning the prophecy to that orb, just like there's no bringing Sirius..."  
  
But he stopped himself. He'd never get to sleep if he kept on like this. He rolled over irritatedly, his sheets rustling and the bedframe creaking. In the dead of night, it sounded quite a bit louder than it really was. Ron's snoring stopped abruptly behind the curtains.  
  
"Mmmnnnggh...Harry, go t'sleep," Ron murmured through his half-asleep drawl, "We've got'game in the morning."  
  
"Sorry," Harry whispered, feeling an irrational surge of annoyance. Oh, was there a game tomorrow?  
  
Sloper and Kirke were mildly improved, but they'd probably lose their cool against Slytherin. Ginny and Broderick had both built up their endurance, but he still wished they could have played Slytherin at the end of the year, when they'd be even stronger. Neville's flying had improved incrementally, but it was nowhere fast enough to take on Slytherin. He guiltily pushed away a furtive hope that he'd be knocked off his broom so Broderick could step in. He suddenly realized he didn't hear Neville's distinctive nose-whistle from the other side of the room.  
  
"Well, at least someone else is awake," Harry thought. He felt a brief moment of companionship. Neville had been with them at the Ministry, he'd been his Secret Keeper, and now, he'd be part of the Quidditch team...in fact, he'd been in their boat on their very first trip to Hogwarts.  
  
The brief moment of peace was pushed aside by other worries. He felt like his mind was a Snitch, darting wildly from one direction to the other.  
  
Who were those two people Snape was talking to? And why is Hagrid inviting all the non-humans to school? Am I really glimpsing the future? What does Hermione see in Ron, anyway?  
  
He felt particularly guilty at this last bit. Ron was a great guy, and a good friend after all.  
  
"Well yes," he reasoned with himself, "I know what I see in him. But what does [I]she[/I] see in him? I mean, his grades are so-so, he's awfully blunt...fine, he's tall, and he's beefed up a bit."  
  
He shuddered at the thought of Hermione and Ron...  
  
"Now I really [I]must[/I] sleep," Harry told himself sternly.  
  
He closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath, practicing what Trelawney had taught him.  
  
"Protego," he thought gently, "Protego." He found that thinking this on his way to Occlumency with Snape made his mind harder to penetrate.  
  
He settled in, feeling considerably lighter. He still wasn't sleepy, but at least he didn't feel like a hundred voices were vying for attention in his skull.  
  
Finally, after another half hour, he pulled the hangings closed as quietly as he could, and settled in to sleep.  
  
He was dreaming about the game tomorrow...his parents were in the stands, cheering for him, along with Sirius, who was laughing his bark-like laugh, and waving. Harry waved back, happily, and went back to the game.  
  
Suddenly his mother's cheering turned into screaming...high-pitched, shrieking...  
  
His scar began to prickle slightly.  
  
"No," he thought sternly in his dream, "Not going to happen."  
  
The prickling faded briefly, but then returned more strongly...Despite his frustration, Harry felt a leaping feeling in his chest... he was...happy.  
  
Images flickered before his eyes, interrupting the Quidditch match...slitted nostrils in pale flesh...his parents standing behind him, one hand on his shoulders...Sirius...  
  
Sirius's face was thin and drawn. His eyes were haunted, as they'd seemed when he'd first escaped Azkaban. He put one hand on Harry's shoulder and held him there, tightly.  
  
"What is it you desire?" he asked.  
  
Harry willed himself to wake up, but Sirius had him by the shoulder...he was shaking him...  
  
"Harry! Get up!"  
  
Harry blinked his eyes open slowly, his scar still tingling slightly. He found Ron shaking his shoulder, wearing his Weasley sweater.  
  
"Come on, mate. Breakfast!"  
  
"Right," Harry said, snapping awake. Quidditch today.  
  
"What's the weather like?"  
  
"Cloudy," Ron said, "And cold. But no sign of rain, and visibility's perfect."  
  
"Excellent," Harry said, pulling his trousers on, and feeling his worries crumble just a bit. Maybe something was finally going to go right.  
  
"Is Neville up?"  
  
"Dunno," Ron said, frowning a bit. "Oi! Neville!"  
  
There was a muffled squeak from behind the curtains.  
  
"Time to face the music, mate," Ron called, with a cheerful wink at Harry, "Don't worry, your first one's always the worst."  
  
Through some miracle, Neville managed to get himself properly dressed, and they headed down to breakfast, where Hermione was already waiting for them, reading the Daily Prophet.  
  
Neville's hands were shaking so badly, his eggs kept falling off his fork before he could eat them. Ginny was forcing herself to take small bites of toast, methodically chewing and swallowing – but Harry could tell from the way she was blankly staring at the oak table that she was nervous as well.  
  
"Try some toast," Ron said pushing a plate over to Neville, "No fork required."  
  
"I m-must've been m-m-mental," Neville moaned quietly.  
  
Ron laughed. "You sound like Aaronson! Come on, Neville...It's only Quidditch."  
  
"Only Quidditch?" Hermione said, with a raised eyebrow, "This is Ron Weasley speaking, is it not?"  
  
Ron shrugged, and helped himself to a heaping plate of bacon, eggs, sausage, and toast.  
  
"Don't get me wrong, it's still the best. But after last year...."  
  
There was a brief quiet at the table. Neville even managed to stop shaking.  
  
"Well," Ron said awkwardly, "There's more important things aren't there? Not many, of course," he added hurriedly.  
  
Harry smiled, and felt himself relax a bit.  
  
"I mean, if you're not having fun, who cares how well you do?" Ron added finally. Ginny seemed to regain some of her usual spark. Neville even managed to take a hearty bite of toast.  
  
"Anything interesting?" Harry asked.  
  
Hermione frowned, "Another break-in at Gringotts."  
  
"Really?" Harry asked, surprisedly, "I thought it was supposed to be impossible to break in there."  
  
"Well, they managed it in our first year, didn't they?" Ron added.  
  
"What were they after?"  
  
"Doesn't say," Hermione said thoughtfully, "I don't like this."  
  
"Well if it isn't Twinkletoes, Potty, and the Mudblood!"  
  
"Ignore him," Hermione said acidly, putting a restraining hand on Ron's shoulder, as he and Harry had both started to their feet.  
  
"And who else is dining at the loser's table, today?" Malfoy said, looking up and down the table. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him as always, smirking stupidly.  
  
"Why, it's Longbottom!" Malfoy said, cheerfully clapping Neville on the shoulder, "Never thought I'd see you on a broom again...hope you've still got your Remembrall with you...maybe you'll remember first year and break your arm again. Don't worry though," Malfoy said with a sneer, nudging Crabbe in the ribs, "If you forget, we'll remind you."  
  
"Why don't I remind you of what happened on the train, Malfoy," Ginny spat, her eyes blazing emeralds, "Though I don't suppose I can shrink them much further before they disappear."  
  
Harry and Ron snorted, and even Neville managed a weak smile. Draco scowled viciously, then regained his trademark sneer.  
  
"Ah, the Weasl-ette," Malfoy said slowly, "Hope you can stay on your broom...doesn't seem like you've had much practice keeping your legs [I]together[/I] lately."  
  
Before they could do anything, Ron had stood up, reached back, and laid an almighty punch right across Malfoy's face.  
  
"[I]TAKE IT BACK![/I]" he hollered, as Malfoy lay sprawled across the floor. To Harry's horror, it didn't seem like Malfoy was conscious.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle made to grab onto Ron, but the entire Great Hall had erupted into pandemonium. Ginny had whipped out her wand, but Harry grabbed her shirt, and pulled her back down.  
  
"STAY DOWN!" Harry bellowed to the Quidditch team, seeing Jack, Andrew, and Katie running down the table, "GO SIT! NOW!" If this turned into a team riot, they were liable to be banned for the year!  
  
"[I]Petrificus Totalus![/I]" Hermione shrieked, wielding her wand, and Crabbe went rigid, and fell with a dull squashy noise to the stone floor.  
  
"[I]Furnunculus![/I]" "[I]Impedimenta![/I]"  
  
Luna and Cho stood side by side – having been seated at the Ravenclaw table, they were the closest members of the D.A. Goyle tripped and fell, his hands and face sprouting into formless clumps of spongy fungus.  
  
Neville had occupied himself with the formidable task of trying to keep Ron from leaping on top of Draco Malfoy. He had Ron under the armpits, and was wincing as Ron inadvertently whacked him with his elbows in his struggle.  
  
"[I]WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?[/I]" cried Professor McGonagall, and all activity ceased, except for Ron's incessant struggling. Harry put a hand over his face.  
  
"[I]Immobulus![/I]" Professor McGongall shouted, and Ron found himself frozen, his face a mask of anger.  
  
The students sat frozen where they were, as though McGonagall had jinxed them all – Teachers never used magic on students...  
  
"[I]MR. POTTER![/I]" she barked, and Harry felt his stomach sink, "You are the Gryffindor team captain – would you care to offer [I]any[/I] explanation for your teammate?"  
  
Harry felt his face go red. He wanted to stick up for Ron, but he knew that they McGonagall was dangerously close to forfeiting the match.  
  
"Draco...said—"  
  
"[I]Said?[/I]," McGonagall bellowed, "I don't care what Mr. Malfoy may have [I]said.[/I] Do you think anything excuses this kind of mindless violence?"  
  
Harry hung his head. He knew what was coming.  
  
"No, Professor."  
  
"And what appropriate action do you think I should take at this point?" she asked, her lips a narrow line, nostrils flaring.  
  
Harry looked into Ron's eyes, which had turned to his direction. He tried to send some kind of mental apology, but the anger frozen on Ron's face didn't help.  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
"Take him out of today's game," he murmured under his breath.  
  
"What?" Draco shouted from the floor, having miraculously regained consciousness, "The [I]whole team[/I] should forfeit!"  
  
"[I]That will do[/I], Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall said curtly.  
  
"Mr. Potter," she continued, "I have half a mind to ban Mr. Weasley for the [I]entire season[/I]! This kind of violence is absolutely [I]abhorrent[/I], and goes against everything Gryffindor stands for. With a different Headmaster, Mr. Weasley might be expelled!"  
  
Something inside Harry snapped.  
  
"Just like Malfoy was expelled?" he asked, standing up to meet her eye.  
  
There was long pause where no one seemed to blink.  
  
"The match," Harry thought, "You're a team captain now."  
  
He sat down, and looked at the table top.  
  
"I'm sorry Professor," he said, "Whatever you think is best."  
  
There was another long silence, where Harry willed himself not to look up.  
  
"You've done it now," Harry thought miserably, "Katie is going to have your hide. The whole team is going to be banned."  
  
"Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, addressing the frozen Ron, "I am taking you out of every practice this week, during which time, you will serve detention with me. If this is in any way unacceptable to you, please let me know, and I will be happy to ban you from Quidditch for the rest of the year! From now on, I expect you to solve your problems with your mind, not your fists."  
  
She straightened up, and addressed Harry again.  
  
"I trust you and your teammates will be able to conduct yourselves as Gryffindors this afternoon?"  
  
"Yes, Professor," Harry said meekly.  
  
She nodded curtly and turned to go. She flicked her wand over her shoulder and said, "[I]Finite incantatem.[/I]"  
  
Ron lurched forward as the spell was lifted, and then stopped himself. Crabbe and Goyle also reverted to their regular state, and promptly picked Draco up off the floor.  
  
"Professor!" Ron called. McGonagall turned and looked at him reproachfully above her spectacles.  
  
"Uhm," Ron said, wilting under her withering glare, "Can I still play today?"  
  
McGonagall paused for a moment, and Harry thought he saw something wrestling behind her eyes. Finally, he detected the slightest hint of a smile.  
  
"You may play today, Mr. Weasley. After all, Mr. Malfoy was not banned from playing Quidditch. It seems," she said, looking slightly over her shoulder towards Professor Snape, "That a precedent has been set for leniency in these cases."  
  
Harry grinned in spite of himself, and looked up at Snape, who was scowling down on them from the teacher's table.  
  
Malfoy sneered at Ron. "See you out there."  
  
But at the look on Ron's face, he beat a hasty retreat, with as much dignity as he could muster.  
  
Ron sat moodily down at the table, as the rest of the Gryffindor team walked over.  
  
"I know," he said gruffly, "I've hurt the team, and 'That was really irresponsible, Ron...' I know. So don't say it."  
  
"You got off lucky, mate," Harry said, trying to show him the upside, "I thought she was going to ban the whole team!"  
  
"It was what you said, Harry!" said Jack happily, "About Malfoy getting off easy!"  
  
"Well," Katie said, "Whatever it was, count your blessings, and get ready for a tough match!"  
  
"Right!" Andrew said, thumping the table, a fevered look in his eyes, "We're going to tenderize those Slytherins, fry 'em up, and eat 'em for dinner!"  
  
"Let's just try to win," Harry said, feeling a bit nauseous at the idea.  
  
"Err..."  
  
Cho was standing there awkwardly, Luna having sat down next to Neville, absentmindedly finishing his toast for him. Harry felt a little nervous – what did she want?  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Oh," she said, "Nothing. Just, good luck."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, "And thanks for helping and everything. You too, Luna."  
  
Luna looked up at the sound of her name, located Harry and waved cheerfully before returning to Neville's toast.  
  
"It was nothing," Cho said, waving it off, "Malfoy's an idiot. Well, good luck to everyone."  
  
Harry nodded gratefully. It seemed like Cho was finally ready to be friends, at least.  
  
Ron was still scowling with his arms folded. Hermione nudged him with her shoulder.  
  
"That was really irresponsible, Ron," she said timidly.  
  
"I told you not to say it."  
  
She smiled warmly, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Just do your best. Remember, 'If you're not having fun...'" she added teasingly.  
  
Ron's cheeks reddened, and his scowl seemed to soften. Hermione ruffled his hair, and stood up to go.  
  
Harry looked away, and stood up as well. Ginny followed stiffly, her face red. She crossed her arms self-consciously.  
  
"You alright, Ginny?"  
  
"Fine," she said, not meeting his eye, "Fine."  
  
"Look," Harry said, putting one hand on her shoulder, "Malfoy's—"  
  
"An idiot, I know," Ginny said, still not meeting his eye.  
  
Harry put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Listen, nobody...Nobody thinks that about you. Think about it – he's Slytherin's captain, right? He's just trying to shake your confidence...it means he's scared of you."  
  
Ginny seemed to consider this.  
  
"It's all mind-games," Harry said reassuringly, "Trying to psych out the best players. He does it every year. It's almost a compliment, really."  
  
Ginny smiled slightly.  
  
"Come on," Harry said, feeling his nerves begin to jangle pleasantly, "The weather's perfect...as soon as you get on a broomstick, you'll forget all about it. Let's go play some Quidditch."  
  
Neville got up from his place, looking pale green. Luna took him cheerfully by the arm, and guided him towards the door.  
  
"Don't worry," she said cheerfully, "You won't break your arm. I asked my troll to keep an eye on you last night, and he winked at me. Of course, it might have been a dustbunny," she said thoughtfully, "Or a bundimun. School's full of them this time of year." 


	29. Chapter TwentyNine

Harry clipped his shin guards into place, and tightened the straps on his arm-protectors. He had a feeling more than his fair share of Bludgers would be heading his way today.  
  
"Right!" he hollered, to the other side of the lockers, "All set over there? Time for a huddle."  
  
Katie and Ginny trotted out from behind the second row of lockers, and seated themselves on the nearest bench.  
  
"Right," Harry said, trying to psych himself up as much as his teammates, "Slytherin plays dirty, we know that. So be ready for anything, and whatever you do, don't get fouled. With any luck, Madame Hooch will be on the lookout for them, and we'll get plenty of penalty shots."  
  
"Ron, no matter what they do, no matter what they say—"  
  
"I know," Ron said, "I'll behave."  
  
"Chasers, lots of passing today – they can't attack you if they can't keep track of who's got the Quaffle. Remember, Neville, three-dimensions...plenty of up and down, not just side-to-side. Jack, Andrew, keep an eye on Crabbe and Goyle, see who they're targeting. If I know Malfoy," he said, the name sour in his mouth, "He'll have them ganging up on one player at a time, hoping for an injury. Broderick, if that happens, I'll call time, and you get right in there."  
  
"Right!" Broderick said eagerly, "Err, watch your backs out there, though" he added with a wink. The team chuckled.  
  
"Right," Harry said, glancing at the clock on the wall, and stalling for a moment. He racked his brains. He was forgetting something, he knew it. What did Wood say when he wanted to be inspiring?  
  
"Let's do it," Ron said.  
  
The team clapped and cheered, Andrew and Jack whooping loudly.  
  
"Hands in!" Harry said. With a quick, "Go, Go, Gryffindor!" they headed out to the field.  
  
The noise from the crowd was deafening. Harry looked over at the Gryffindor stands, and saw Luna's ridiculous lion hat, roaring away inaudibly under the commotion. He could just make out Hermione jumping and waving, along with several members of the D.A.  
  
Lee Jordan's voice boomed out over the Quidditch pitch.  
  
"And now, the Gryffindor team! Potter, Bell, the Weasleys, Sloper, Kirke, and Longbottom!"  
  
Neville looked awestruck at the sound of his name, and the roar of the crowd.  
  
"How d'y'like that, eh?" Ron said nudging him cheerfully with his elbow.  
  
He seemed torn between happiness and utter terror.  
  
Madame Hooch called the team over with a blast of her whistle. Harry walked over to where she and the Slytherin team were already waiting.  
  
"I want a good, clean match!" she hollered over the din, "Shake hands!"  
  
Harry reached across and took Malfoy's hand, both of them smiling angrily and trying to squeeze the other's fingers off.  
  
"That's enough of that," Madame Hooch said sternly, and they mounted their brooms.  
  
The Snitch and the Bludgers were released, and with a blast of her whistle, the Quaffle was tossed up into the air.  
  
Harry zoomed off the ground, the Snitch still in his sight. He heard the crack of a bat on a Bludger, and instinctly went into his Sloth Grip Roll, hearing it whoosh overhead before he righted himself. In that brief instant, the Snitch had disappeared. He saw Malfoy hanging about a few feet behind him, tailing him, as usual. He gave Potter a snide wave.  
  
"And it's Katie Bell of Gryffindor in possession!" Lee said excitedly, "Bell passing to Ginny Weasley, one of the substitute players from last year... whole family's great Quidditch players – Ohhh! Narrow miss, that, a Bludger from Crabbe. Weasley passing to seventh-year Katie Bell, Bell [I]right[/I] to Longbottom, what a pass! And it's Longbottom...Longbottom still in possession...Ohhhhh! Stolen by newcomer Malcom Baddock, quite a lot of new blood this year...Baddock proving himself to be quite a flier, unfortunately."  
  
"Jordan!" warned Professor McGonagall.  
  
"What? It's a compliment, Professor. Pucey passing to Warrington, Warrington now with the Quaffle...Too bad! A well-timed Bludger from Sloper, but it's wide...Warrington back to Baddock – is that the Snitch?!"  
  
Harry was diving towards the ground, his arm outstretched. Malfoy wrenched his broom about and followed suit. Harry kept his gaze steady, nerves ajangle. Two Bludgers whizzed by him in rapid succession.  
  
"Lay off, you idiots!" Malfoy called from behind him.  
  
Finally, at the last minute, Harry leaned all of his weight backwards, and pulled up. He could hear Malfoy shout as he scraped the ground, and then heard a dull thud.  
  
"An [I]excellent[/I] Wronski Feint from Potter, unseating Slytherin Captain Draco Malfoy, and, a what a save from Keeper Ron Weasley! Ataway, Ron! And Weasley throws the Quaffle in – Ginny Weasley again in posession – What? NO! I don't [I]believe[/I] it!"  
  
Harry heard Madame Hooch's shrill whistle, and turned to see what had happened.  
  
"Keeper Ron Weasley takes a Bludger directly to the head! Absolutely despicable foul, there, from Beater—"  
  
"Jordan!"  
  
"Fine, fine, your regular garden-variety foul from Beater Vincent Crabbe. Is he alright?"  
  
Harry landed with a rush, and stumbled over to where Ron was laying, Katie and Ginny arriving as well.  
  
"Mr. Weasley? Are you alright?" Madame Hooch asked in her brisk, business- like tone.  
  
Ron groaned, and tried to sit up, but he clutched his head, and sank to his elbows. He'd landed on his arm, and his shoulder seemed a bit funny.  
  
"Mm'fine," he slurred, "Lem meonna broom..."  
  
"Are you quite sure?" Madame Hooch repeated.  
  
"Teller, Haaarr...I c'ns...tillplay..." Ron said, trying very hard to focus on Harry.  
  
Madame Hooch turned to Harry, her face doubtful.  
  
"It's your, call, Captain."  
  
Harry froze. He didn't want to take Ron out – but he didn't want him hurt either – and on the other hand, there was the team to think about – could he even play?  
  
Ron was blinking owlishly, and shook his head as though trying to clear his vision.  
  
Harry felt a hand on his arm. He looked over and saw Ginny Weasley standing next to him, her face white.  
  
"Take him out," Harry said, sadly.  
  
Ron scowled, "I c'n..play... I...Ohhh..."  
  
He seemed as though he were going to retch, then clutched his stomach and slumped back to the pitch.  
  
"Just for a short while, Ron," Harry said trying to sound reassuring, "We'll bring you back in."  
  
Neville and Broderick Johnson landed neatly to Harry's right.  
  
"Bloody hell," Broderick said, looking shaken, "Is he alright?"  
  
Harry did some quick thinking. "Johnson - trade with Neville. Neville, you take Keeper."  
  
"What?" Neville said, his eyes round with panic, "But I've never even—"  
  
"It'll be fine!" Harry said, "It'll mean less flying! And your passing and catching is great!"  
  
"But—"  
  
"Mr. Potter, we need a decision."  
  
"You can do it, Neville. We're counting on you."  
  
Neville swallowed, and nodded.  
  
"Alright! Penalty shot to Gryffindor! Back in the air, you lot."  
  
Ron was helped to his feet, and stumbled over to the sidelines, where Madame Pomfrey was waiting. The team got up in the air, and assembled around the Slytherin posts.  
  
"And it looks like he's okay! Ron Weasley walking off the field unaided, and here comes Broderick Johnson, Angelina's little brother. And it seems that Broderick will be covering – Oh? No, my mistake, it seems Longbottom is off to cover the Gryffindor goals! Interesting move from new Captain, Harry Potter...And it's the lovely and talented Katie Bell lining up for the shot...In addition to being a raving beauty, and a fine Chaser, Katie Bell is possessed of a sparkling wit—  
  
"Jordan!" barked Professor McGonagall, "You can write sonnets on your own time!"  
  
"Quite right, Professor. Just a bit of backstory, for the fans, you know. Katie takes the shot - and it's good! Katie Bell blows past the Slythern Keeper, and it's ten nil, with Gryffindor in the lead!"  
  
The crowd roared, and Harry heaved a sigh of relief.  
  
"Keeper Bletchley tosses the Quaffle out to Montague, Montague to Baddock – Come on, Beaters! And Sloper sends the Bludger far too high, little unfocused there...Baddock already nearing the goal – And it's all up to Neville, now!"  
  
There was a collective groan from three-quarters of the students, as Baddock pelted the Quaffle through the right hoop, Neville diving wildly, one hand clutching his broom.  
  
It went downhill from there – Baddock was far too fast, and Neville simply too slow a flier. His passes were excellent, but seeing as he only got to pass the Quaffle after Slytherin had scored, that wasn't much advantage. True to form, Slytherin was giving the Gryffindor Chasers quite a time, Ginny narrowly avoiding a Bludger with a last minute Sloth Grip Roll. Fortunately, Broderick Johnson was proving to be more than a match for Baddock, and he, Katie, and Ginny made for a mean Offense.  
  
"Broderick nearing the Slytherin goals...and...HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS, what was [I]THAT?[/I]"  
  
Harry grinned at the riotous cheering that had broken out in the stands – he didn't need to look to know that Broderick had just tried out his patented move for the first time.  
  
"I've never seen anything [I]like[/I] it!" Lee effused, "And that brings Gryffindor up to fifty, with Slytherin still in the lead at eighty. Loads of fresh talent this year, helluva shot, really!"  
  
"Jordan!"  
  
"Well, it was! Slytherin still in the lead however, and with no sign of the Snitch, it's still anyone's game."  
  
"Find it! Find it!" Harry muttered through his teeth, starting to feel the match slipping away. He soared high above the action, Malfoy circling lower to the pitch looking upwards.  
  
Finally, he saw it – a glimmering golden flicker down at the other end of the pitch.  
  
Leaning forward and putting his Firebolt to the test, Harry shot towards the other end of the pitch, gaining height as the Snitch climbed.  
  
Suddenly, the sun seemed to go behind a cloud. The noise of the crowd grew suddenly muffled, but all of a sudden, Harry began to hear screams.  
  
He shuddered, and felt icy cold inside.  
  
"No," he thought wildly, "It's not possible..."  
  
He was suddenly lifted clean off of his broom, by a bony, scabrous hand. He fumbled for his broom, which slipped out of his cold fingers, and began to glide towards the ground. He began fumbling in his pocket for his wand, but it was too late...  
  
There were four of them, swarming all about him. He could vaguely hear the students screaming below him, saw flashes of white light popping around the stands...  
  
The hooded head of a Dementor appeared in front of him, it's gaping hole of a mouth seeking his...he could smell it's rotting breath...His vision began to fade...The screaming of the students below became one scream, one piercing scream – his mother's.  
  
He was suddenly bathed in white light. He turned his head, and was surprised to see an unearthly white otter, phoenix, what looked like some kind of large cat, and a swan slowly making their way towards him. The Dementor before him let out a horrible screech, and disappeared from view – he was falling...floating.  
  
He landed with a gentle bump on the Quidditch pitch. His vision slowly began to clear, and the sound of his mother's dying screams faded. Suddenly, as though a light switch was turned on, he was acutely aware of the cries of the students around him.  
  
"[I]Expecto Patronum![/I]" cried Ginny from his left. He turned his head to see she, Katie, Broderick, and even Ron, an ice pack strapped to his head, were all aiming their wands skyward, bellowing at the top of their lungs. Up in the stands, he though he could see Hermione commanding her otter to chase down the last of the Dementors. Throughout the stands, there were various flashes of white light. Harry felt the cold drain from his limbs, and his chest filled with hope. He took out his wand.  
  
"The first time I rode a broom," he thought, "Lupin telling me I look like my Dad..."  
  
"Ron and Hermione..."  
  
"[I]EXPECTO PATRONUM![/I]"  
  
A fully formed, silver-white stag erupted from the end of Harry's wand, and tossed his head before cantering upwards to the heavens, chasing the Dementors aside with a sweep of his massive antlers. Harry felt like his heart was going to burst through his chest.  
  
Finally, the very last of the four Dementors fled shrieking into the sky.  
  
Harry watched as his Patronus cantered back to him, reaching out to stroke his nose.  
  
"Hi, Dad."  
  
The stag blinked once, and began to dissipate. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the warmth and light around him. Finally, he opened his eyes. The partly cloudy sun had returned, but it seemed quite dim compared to the brilliant white light that had just bathed the Quidditch pitch.  
  
"All students are to report to their common rooms immediately, escorted by the school prefects," boomed Professor McGonagall's Sonorus-voice, "And are to wait there for further instruction."  
  
"The match," Harry said under his breath, feeling a slight sense of dread. Slytherin had been in the lead...  
  
Harry and Ron made eye contact.  
  
"What about the match?" he asked.  
  
"We'll sort it out later," Ron said nervously, "I've got to go."  
  
Harry shook his head, "We should all help. The D.A. I mean."  
  
Ron nodded, but they were spared having to run up the Gryffindor tower by the appearance of Hermione bursting through the door at its base.  
  
"This way! Hurry!" she called over her shoulder, leading a strand of terrified first and second years across the pitch.  
  
"You lot!" she called to them, "Spread out, keep us covered!"  
  
"Right!" Ron said, "Come on!"  
  
He, Ginny, Broderick, and Katie ran towards the door to the tower, and after another ten or twenty people had gone through, Ginny started trotting alongside them, following the line of students back to the common room.  
  
"Harry," called Hermione, as she passed by, "Are you alright?"  
  
"Fine," he called, "Just get everyone to the common room, I'll follow up behind. Don't forget to count heads!"  
  
Harry watched the long line of students making a mass exodus from the Quidditch stadium, and did a quick scan of the skies...  
  
"It's Voldemort," Harry thought to himself, and he simultaneously felt the thrill and the terror of adrenaline, "It's something to do with him, I know it. But what?"  
  
Harry racked his brains. It was a shoddy plan, really – send Dementors to kill Harry Potter? In full view of the Hogwarts staff and every single member of the D.A.?  
  
"No," Harry thought, shaking his head at the thought as though it were a pesky fly, "He's far to intelligent for that..."  
  
So what was the advantage? What did Voldemort have to gain from such a foolhardy plan? Terror? Yes, it was possible that he'd order the attack just to further terrorize the students, but Voldemort didn't usually make empty threats.  
  
"Maybe," Harry realized suddenly, "This wasn't the real attack at all...maybe this is just like a magic trick...He has us looking in the wrong direction. If this was a diversion, what's he really after?"  
  
"Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, "Are you alright?"  
  
Harry looked up and was surprised to see the Headmaster standing near him, as the last of the students making their way out of the stadium. Professor McGonagall and the other Heads of House had gone, but a few of the teachers were scanning the bleachers, making sure no one had been left behind.  
  
"Fine," Harry said distractedly, "I just—"  
  
"Where is Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked anxiously.  
  
Suddenly Harry realized – The attack on him [I]had[/I] been a decoy – Voldemort wasn't after him...he was after his Secret Keeper.  
  
"He's with the others," Harry said hurriedly, "With the whole class, and the D.A. I'm sure he's—"  
  
Harry felt as though he'd just swallowed a lead weight.  
  
"Neville – where's Neville? I didn't see him when I touched down..."  
  
Dumbledore's face was etched with sudden concern.  
  
"He could be with the others even as we speak," Dumbledore said, "Regardless, we will conduct a search of the stadium immediately. For now, Harry, I want you to return to your common room –"  
  
But Harry pushed past the Headmaster, and began running towards the Gryffindor goal posts. He knew Dumbledore was trying to keep him safe, but he wasn't having it. He was not about to sit idly by and wait. He could not allow yet another of his friends to be put in danger for his sake. He would not sit there in the common room doing nothing, while his friend...  
  
He pushed the thought from his head.  
  
"He was playing Keeper," Harry thought frantically, "If they wanted to question him, they'd have to have gotten him from this area..."  
  
Harry trotted over to the nearby bleachers.  
  
"Neville?!" he hollered. He thought he saw a shadow.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Harry pushed the Headmaster's call out of his ears, and stepped into the bleachers, his wand outstretched.  
  
"[I]Lumos![/I]"  
  
Neville turned about suddenly, one hand clutching the rafters above him, the other holding his wand out. His face was sweaty and pale in the harsh light of Harry's wand. When he saw Harry, he hesitated, and lowered his wand slightly.  
  
"Neville, are you alright?" Harry asked frantically, "What happened?"  
  
Neville wouldn't speak.  
  
"Harry!" called the Headmaster urgently. From the sound of his voice, he was nearing the bleachers, and Harry though he could hear the footsteps of the other teachers.  
  
Neville looked up at the sound of the Headmaster's voice, his eyes wide with fear.  
  
"I found him, Professor!" Harry called over his shoulder, then turned back to Neville.  
  
But Neville was glaring at Harry, hatred and desperation mingled in his eyes. He pointed his wand at Harry's chest.  
  
"[I]Avada –[/I]" 


	30. Chapter Thirty

"[I]EXPELLIARMUS![/I]" roared the Headmaster, and Neville's wand went flying out of his hand.  
  
Without a second glance, Neville turned tail and ran, ducking and leaping athletically through the criss-crossing supports of the bleachers.  
  
"[I]Impedimenta![/I]" "[I]Petrificus totalus![/I]"  
  
The teachers' spells came fast and strong, but they had no hope of a clear shot. The spells were harmlessly absorbed by the wood, as the shadowy, running figure negotiated the labyrinth of timbers.  
  
Harry simply stared, his brain skipping over the same thought, like a scratched record.  
  
"[I]Why?[/I]"  
  
"Harry, are you alright?" Professor Dumbledore asked sternly, looking slightly to his left. Harry saw Professor Vector, Flitwick, and another teacher he didn't know stumble past, trying to follow through the bleachers.  
  
Harry shook his head to clear it.  
  
"I'm...yes...I'm okay."  
  
But his shock was suddenly replaced by urgency, and anger.  
  
"Come on! He's getting – "  
  
But there was a blood-curdling screech from outside the Quidditch arena.  
  
"Harry, [I]stay here![/I]" Dumbledore said sternly.  
  
"I can't," Harry said, meeting Dumbledore's eye. His scar burst into searing pain, and he felt a surge of irrational fury. He wanted to murder this man.  
  
Harry jerked his eyes away, as did Dumbledore, and he tried to squash the feeling down.  
  
"I can't," Harry shouted angrily, as he ducked out of the bleachers, and began running towards where the screech had come from.  
  
"Harry!" bellowed the Headmaster, but Harry again pushed it out of his ears.  
  
"What does he know about it?" Harry found himself screaming inside, "He just wants to keep me safe, but he doesn't understand – no one is safe. No one is safe anymore, and it's because of me, and to shut me up in the common room and expect me not to –"  
  
Harry had exited the Quidditch pitch and began running towards the Whomping Willow, where the scream had come from. For a moment he was panicked as he stopped to scan the grounds – where had he gone? Did he know about the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack? How could he? Who would have told him?  
  
"[I]NO! NOOO![/I]" came the shrill shrieking.  
  
Neville wasn't on the grounds.  
  
With horror leaking into his heart like ice water, Harry slowly craned his head back, and looked up to see the same four Dementors, holding Neville's feebly struggling body high in the air. Two of them were clutching his arms in their bony, slimy claws, while the other two were sucking out his soul.  
  
Harry whipped out his wand.  
  
"[I]Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum![/I]"  
  
But his heart was full of dread. He couldn't think of a single happy thought – all was cold and dark. His wand let out a feeble white glow, then subsided. Once more, he heard his mother's dying screams echoing in the corridors of his mind again...he seemed to see Sirius falling in a graceful arc once more...  
  
"No!" he thought, "Stay awake! Expecto patronum! [I]Expecto Patronum![/I]"  
  
Then, to his horror, one of the Demetors pulled back their hoods, to reveal a scabby skull, glistening moistly...stray strands of hair straggled out of the half-rotten patches of skin, half sloughing off of the greenish-gray bone – Dark, wrinkled depressions where there ought to be eyes, and worst of all, a gaping, sucking maw, reeking of death –  
  
-- clamped over Neville Longbottom's mouth.  
  
Harry felt the bile reaching the back of his throat, and his stomach wrenched, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. His head was swimming,  
  
With an ear-splitting shriek of triumph, the Dementors released Neville's limp body, and went wheeling off into the clouded sky. Harry watched helplessly as Neville fell to the ground, and landed with a sickening crunch.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Harry didn't even turn around as the Headmaster knelt by his side, the other teachers racing towards Neville's limp body.  
  
"He'd [I]dead![/I]" Harry stammered in disbelief, shaking his head to clear the darkness, and still shivering from the cold, or what else, he couldn't tell...  
  
With a tricky little wave of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a chocolate frog, which he wordlessly passed to Harry. Harry didn't dare look him in the eyes, but he felt, more than saw, the helpless anger and disappointment emanating from Dumbledore.  
  
"He's still breathing," Professor Vector said, "But not really alive...we were too late. Looks as though his arm's broken in several places...it's a mercy he can't feel it."  
  
"Why?" Harry asked, through clenched teeth. He felt as though he were going to go mad.  
  
"[I]WHY?![/I]" He stood up and strode over to Neville's limp body, the Headmaster following close behind.  
  
Harry got a shock when he saw Neville's face – it was completely pallid and devoid of expression, his blue eyes fixed pointedly somewhere beyond the sky. But worst of all was his lips – they were blue, his veins standing out by stark contrast – totally frozen.  
  
Harry was suddenly struck by an odd realization – Neville could have killed him at any time today – in the locker room, at lunch, even during the game.  
  
"Maybe he just didn't want to get caught," Harry reasoned with himself, "He wanted to wait until we were alone."  
  
"But how would he know that [I]I[/I] would be the one to find him, under the bleachers?" he asked out loud.  
  
"What?" Professor Vector asked, looking at Harry with a cautious expression.  
  
"You'd best eat that," Dumbledore said briskly, pointing at the chocolate frog. Harry was momentarily taken aback – the Headmaster had never spoken to him that way before. He might have pushed him too far this time. He obediently took a bite of the chocolate frog, and felt warmth returning to his limbs.  
  
Dumbledore knelt down next to Neville's body, and reached into Neville's pocket, which was a difficult feat – Harry noticed that Neville's uniform seemed quite a bit tighter than normal. Had he gained weight?  
  
Dumbledore took out a scrap of paper and what looked like a few Bertie Bott's beans. But Harry was still looking at Neville's uniform...  
  
"Slytherin!" Harry shouted, pointing at the crest on Neville's sweater.  
  
They all turned their eyes to the green and silver crest, the snake hissing, it's teeth bared.  
  
Dumbledore took the orange candy, delicately lifted Neville's tongue with his long fingers, and pushed it underneath his tongue near his gum line.  
  
For a moment nothing happened. Then, suddenly, Neville seemed to start growing.  
  
"No," Harry said, realization dawning, "But how would he get them?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at the few Bertie Botts beans in his hand, which were not candy at all, but were the separated purple and orange ends of Fred and George's Polyjuice Snackboxes.  
  
Neville continued to grow taller and taller. His boyish face elongated, becoming more sallow, darker. He sprouted thick, stringy black hair, and his blue eyes became dark, like empty holes. There was a slight ripping sound, as the seams of the sweater were stretched to their limit.  
  
Harry was shaking with anger.  
  
"It's Nott," Harry said, clenching his fists, and glaring hatefully at the Death Eater's soul-less, still-living body, squeezed painfully into the Slytherin uniform.  
  
Dumbledore passed Harry the scrap of paper. He opened it up, and read the word scrawled in green ink across the parchment:  
  
"Nebulus...That's our password," Harry said, a chill running down his spine.  
  
"It seems he wasn't planning on encountering you until later tonight," Dumbledore said.  
  
The Headmaster's jaw was set, and his normally sparkling blue eyes were cast carefully at the turf – though his voice seemed calm as ever, Harry knew he was angry, though at him or at Voldemort he couldn't tell. It was as though the sun had gone behind a cloud – Harry actually felt cold.  
  
"How?" Harry asked, racking his brains, "How could he get the Snackboxes? Fred and George only sell them to the Order – and how could he get the password? And a uniform?"  
  
"And why would he get the wrong one?" Professor Flitwick asked, examining the Slytherin crest on the torn sweater.  
  
"More importantly," Dumbledore said, worry and exhaustion shading his impassive face, "Where is Mr. Longbottom?"  
  
"Neville was normal all through lunch today...and even during the game, when Ron got hit in the head – he spoke, I heard his voice."  
  
"But the person might have gotten his hair ages ago – they have the Gryffindor password," Professor Vector said doubtfully.  
  
"Yes," Harry said, "But they'd need to..."  
  
He stopped himself. He'd been about to say, "They'd need to get rid of the real Neville first."  
  
"Let's return to the Quidditch Stadium," Dumbledore said evenly, "And search where we first found the impostor. Perhaps we can find where the real Mr. Longbottom is hidden."  
  
Harry noticed uncomfortably that he said "hidden" rather than "hiding."  
  
"Err, Professor...may I...that is, if it's alright..."  
  
Dumbledore turned his eyes to Harry's shoulder.  
  
"It seems that I am unable to stop you. Therefore, you are welcome to come along. If you would, please, stay with us, however?"  
  
Harry almost wished the Headmaster had yelled at him, or given him detention...his disappointment was eminently worse than his anger. He was reminded of Lupin's words to him in third year...his parents had died to protect him...so many others in the Order were risking their lives on a daily basis, in part, trying to keep him safe. The least he could have done was gone to the common room...  
  
But something about this didn't sit right with Harry. Go to the common room, like a good boy...  
  
"It's just like shipping me off to the Dursleys every summer, and cutting me out of all contact with the wizarding world...People don't like being shut up and closed off, even if it [I]is[/I] safer."  
  
Besides...wasn't this all about him in the first place? If he was the cause of all this, how was he supposed to sit idly by and do nothing to [I]stop[/I] it? Honestly, had that ever worked in the past? He always ended up right in the thick of it, whether he wanted to be or not.  
  
His mind wandered to Sirius, going stir-crazy in his family's old home. "Sirius would never just stand idly by," Harry said to himself strongly, "and hide when his friends needed him most...He came for me, so I came for Neville. Sirius would never cower in the attic while I was in danger."  
  
"And look what it got him," said the nasty little voice in his head.  
  
"It doesn't matter," Harry argued viciously with himself, "It was the right thing to do."  
  
"And it was your fault he had to do it..."  
  
They had passed through the wooden archway, and reached the Quidditch pitch. Harry looked up to see the Headmaster peering down at him over his spectacles. He flinched at the eye contact, expecting his scar to hurt, but there was nothing – apparently Lord Voldemort's thoughts were elsewhere.  
  
With a little hope, he realized he could read something besides disappointment in Dumbledore's eyes – just the slightest trace of sadness, and understanding. Harry knew, instinctively, that Dumbledore had also been thinking about Sirius.  
  
"This way!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, from beneath the bleachers.  
  
Professor Vector emerged from the bleachers, Neville's unconscious form in his arms. 


	31. Chapter ThirtyOne

Harry shifted uncomfortably yet again – he was sitting on a cold, hard, stone bench just outside the hospital wing with Hermione, clutching a mountain of chocolate frogs in his arms – As soon as he'd gotten to the common room, he'd sent Hedwig to Hogsmeade with the order, and gone straight to the hospital wing, hoping to check on Neville. Unfortunately, there had been no update for the past several hours.  
  
Ron came running up the stairs, wiping his mouth.  
  
"Any sign yet?"  
  
"I'm not telling you," Hermione said, with a sarcastically raised eyebrow, "As you elected to go downstairs and stuff your face."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry!" Ron retorted hotly, about to launch into another row, but at the downcast look on Harry's face he stopped himself.  
  
"Look, Hermione, why don't you get some dinner," Ron said, "We'll take it in turns."  
  
Hermione seemed loathe to leave Harry, but at the same time, Harry could tell that she was probably starving...She'd been sitting here all afternoon. She, Harry, Ron, and the Quidditch team had wanted to get in to visit Neville, but Madame Pomfrey, outraged at the notion, had shooed them all out into the hallway.  
  
"He's in a [I]very[/I] delicate state!" Madame Pomfrey had said sternly, "You can drown him in sugar later!"  
  
"I hope there is a later," Harry thought miserably, one of the chocolate frogs falling out of his arms. He leaned over to pick it up instinctively, and the rest fell to the ground.  
  
Harry cursed half-heartedly, and knelt down to pick the rest of them up.  
  
"Here, let me help," Ron said, "Put them in my schoolbag."  
  
Hermione knelt down to help as well.  
  
"You should really go down and get something to eat," Harry said, "We'll be fine up here. Nothing's likely to change in the next five minutes."  
  
"Five minutes?" Hermione asked, teasingly nudging Harry's shoulder, "Is that all I get?"  
  
"That's all you [I]need[/I]!" Ron said, winking at Harry, "We've seen you eat!"  
  
Harry laughed weakly as Hermione gave Ron a smart thwack in the back of the head, but he felt even weaker at seeing her signature smile...  
  
"I'll be back in five minutes," she said, still smirking slightly. She put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and seemed about to say something.  
  
"I'll be fine," Harry said, "Go on."  
  
She sighed quietly, and gave Harry a kiss on the cheek before she left, but Harry couldn't even bring himself to feel embarrassed, or excited, or guilty. He was so wrought up about Neville.  
  
"Oi, where's mine?" Ron asked, as she walked down the stone corridor.  
  
"Have to earn one," she called over her shoulder.  
  
For a moment the two were quiet, as they gathered up the chocolate frogs.  
  
"So...have they said anything?" Ron asked.  
  
"About...you mean here? About Neville?"  
  
"Yeah, about how he's doing...or about what happened."  
  
Harry was a bit taken aback. "I thought Dumbledore would have explained everything when dinner started."  
  
"Well," Ron continued, pausing thoughtfully in his frog-collecting, "All he said was that Neville got hurt during the Dementor attack, and that he'd tell us more when they knew more. That was pretty much it."  
  
"He doesn't want to scare them," Harry said darkly, "He's telling them the truth, but not the whole truth."  
  
"He may just want to get his facts straight," Ron said, uncomfortably torn between defending the Headmaster, and not upsetting Harry. There was a slight pause as they finished collecting the last of the scattered frog boxes.  
  
"Harry," Ron asked, concern etched across his brow, "What exactly [I]did[/I] happen?"  
  
Harry sighed, and related the entire series of events to Ron.  
  
"You mean [I]Neville?[/I]" Ron asked, his eyes wide, "It had to have been the Imperius Curse! That's an Unforgiveable Curse, whoever put it on him is—"  
  
"It wasn't," Harry said, weary from having to explain. Hermione had always been two steps ahead of him – he couldn't tell the story fast enough for her.  
  
"It was Nott," said Harry, "He somehow got a hold of a Polyjuice Snackbox, and disguised himself as Neville. The dementors were just a diversion – they were after my Secret Keeper, and then they were going to come after me that night, if they could."  
  
Ron had turned pale, "So they thought Neville—"  
  
Harry held a finger up to his lips. It was dangerous to talk about Secret Keepers out in the open like this – even though he didn't see anyone there, you never knew who might overhear.  
  
Ron stood slowly, his knees creaking a bit, and sat back down on the stone bench.  
  
"Blimey," he said, "Are they sure it was a Snackbox?"  
  
"They found the other half and another whole one in his pocket...along with a scrap of paper that had the Gryffindor password on it."  
  
Ron's eyes went wide, "So that means a Gryffindor must have given it to him!"  
  
Harry's brow furrowed. He didn't think anyone in Gryffindor would give the password to a Death Eater – why would they be put in Gryffindor, then?  
  
Then again, maybe betrayal wasn't the sole property of Slytherin – after all, his dad, Sirius, and Lupin had been friends with Peter Pettigrew – and he didn't think they'd make friends with a Slytherin.  
  
"So Peter Pettigrew must have been in Gryffindor," Harry reasoned with himself.  
  
"Unless," said a quiet voice tickling at the back of his mind, "Unless..."  
  
Harry pushed the thought out of his head. They [I]all[/I] were in Gryffindor...they had to be.  
  
"Nobody in Gryffindor would give the password to a Death Eater," Harry repeated out loud.  
  
"But they wouldn't," Ron said, "They'd be giving it to...I dunno, Neville, or...whoever's hair they could get."  
  
Harry was suddenly jarred by the thought – how long had Death Eaters been slipping in and out of the school unnoticed?  
  
"Besides," Ron said, "I know Fred and George wouldn't sell the Snackboxes to anyone who wasn't in the Order...not even you or me. So someone must have been using the Polyjuice to get them...in...the first place?" he trailed off.  
  
"That makes no sense," Harry said aloud, "Because they'd have to already have the Snackbox to get the Snackboxes."  
  
"They might have used the regular potion," Ron added.  
  
Harry shrugged, "I suppose it's possible...but they'd have to [I]sound[/I] like someone in the Order as well...to buy something they'd have to tell Fred and George what they want...and have to sound like themselves, and act as though they knew them...And where would they hide the [I]real[/I] member of the Order?"  
  
"Right," Ron said pensievely, "But look at that Crouch fellow from our fourth year...he managed it all year."  
  
Harry felt discomforted by this. Who could he trust? Anybody, everybody could really be someone else, under their skin...He suddenly understood a whole new level of the terror that had run rampant during Voldemort's first rise to power.  
  
"Well, then let's say that wasn't it," Ron said, "How else would they get a hold of all of it? The password, the Snackbox, the uniform..."  
  
Harry racked his brains, "The uniform! The Slytherin uniform...maybe they only used it because they couldn't get a Gryffindor uniform..."  
  
Ron wrinkled his nose, "How did they get into the school, anyway?"  
  
"The Shrieking Shack," Harry said distractedly, still trying to puzzle how they got the password and the uniform, "Pettigrew could have told them about it."  
  
"No," Ron said, "I mean, did he sneak in as a Death Eater? If it was the first time he was in the school, he wouldn't have Neville's hair yet..."  
  
They heard Hermione's footsteps echoing on the stone stairway as she huffed her way up the steps.  
  
"Five minutes on the dot," Ron muttered under his breath, "And I get smacked in the head for telling the truth. There's no justice, mate."  
  
Harry forced a grin, but his mind was still racing...maybe Hermione would be able to figure it out.  
  
"Have a nice meal?" Ron asked wryly, "Can you remember what it was?"  
  
"Listen," Hermione said urgently, still trying to catch her breath, "I've been thinking about it – the Slytherin uniform – it had to have come from Slytherin..."  
  
"You don't say?" Ron said sarcastically.  
  
"I [I]mean[/I]," Hermione said, "Someone in Slytherin must have given it to the Death Eaters!"  
  
They were quiet for a moment.  
  
"They could have just nicked it," Ron said hesitantly.  
  
"How?" Hermione said, clearly having already thought this out.  
  
"With the Polyjuice!"  
  
"They couldn't use the Polyjuice yet - they needed the uniform to sneak into the school in the first place."  
  
They thought this over.  
  
"This is one of those sequence...things," Ron said, "They had to have the uniform to use the Polyjuice...and they had to have the Polyjuice to get into the school..."  
  
"So first, they got the Polyjuice Snackbox," Hermione said counting off on her fingers, "Then, they got the uniform...Now they needed..."  
  
"The Gryffindor password," Ron added excitedly.  
  
"And a hair," Harry said, "Or a fingernail, or whatnot. They'd have to enter the school already disguised. But they wouldn't be able to get a student's hair until they were already inside the school..."  
  
"Maybe whoever gave them the uniform also gave them a hair," Hermione said, frowning.  
  
"[I]And[/I] the Gryffindor password?" Ron asked, befuddled.  
  
"But how would a Gryffindor have access to a Slytherin uniform?" Hermione said, helplessly rubbing her forehead.  
  
"And how would a Slytherin have the Gryffindor passw—"  
  
But Harry froze.  
  
"It's him."  
  
"Who?" Hermione asked urgently.  
  
"Come on!" Harry shouted, already running off.  
  
"But what about –" Ron said, pointing at the door.  
  
"[I]Come on![/I]" Harry shouted, nearly rounding the corner.  
  
Ron hurriedly upended his school bag, and shook the chocolate frogs out onto the bench, before he and Hermione began running after Harry.  
  
Seeing they were following, Harry turned about and began to run towards the Headmaster's office.  
  
He was saved the trip as he ran smack dab into the Headmaster himself. 


	32. Chapter ThirtyTwo

"Headmaster," Harry said, momentarily forgetting himself, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"The same thing as you three, I imagine," Dumbledore said with a smile, "Checking on Mr. Longbottom. I believe he's just woken up, actually."  
  
"Wow," Ron breathed to Hermione, "He [I]does[/I] know everything."  
  
"I've been keeping my eye on the situation," Dumbledore said, winking at Harry's shoulder. Harry realized Dumbledore must have been practicing his Leglimency, checking on Neville's condition. He wondered in part, how responsible Dumbledore was for his sudden improvement...  
  
"Headmaster," Harry said, remembering himself, "There's something I have to tell you. I think we may have figured something out about what happened today."  
  
Dumbledore nodded seriously.  
  
"In good time, Harry. Let us first see what Mr. Longbottom has to say, and then you can tell me everything."  
  
They entered the hospital wing to see Madame Pomfrey busily fussing over Neville...but there was something wrong. Neville was lying in bed rather rigidly, shaking slightly.  
  
"NO!" hissed Madame Pomfrey at the trio of students, "Abso[I]lutely[/I] not! He has [I]just now[/I] regained consciousness, and I won't have you three –"  
  
"It's alright, Poppy," Dumbledore said in a warm, quiet voice, "I will ensure that no harm comes to Mr. Longbottom."  
  
Madame Pomfrey blushed and seemed tongue-tied for a moment, and, deferring to the Headmaster, set about viciously folding some hospital sheets, muttering to herself about "highly irregular," and "St. Mungo's would never."  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione trailed slightly behind the Headmaster, and kept a respectful distance from Neville's bed. There was definitely something – off about him. He seemed to be looking up and over them, his eyes darting frantically from side to side. Harry noticed his hands were shaking, one of them, a tightly balled fist clutching a Drooble's wrapper.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said, in the same warm, soothing tone, "How are you feeling?"  
  
Neville's shaking seemed to subside slightly, and he turned his eyes to the Headmaster as though he saw him for the first time.  
  
Harry crossed over to Madame Pomfrey, who had finished folding the sheets with military precision, and was now scribbling sternly in her logbook.  
  
"What's wrong with him?" he asked in a whisper.  
  
"He's in shock," she said in a severe whisper, "He needs bed rest and quiet. Visitors are only likely to upset him."  
  
Harry trailed back over to Ron and Hermione, who were still hanging back from Neville's side.  
  
"What did Madame Pomfrey say?" Ron asked, shifting nervously.  
  
"Shock," Harry muttered, guilt settling acidly in his stomach, "Something awful must've happened."  
  
Suddenly Neville seemed to see Harry for the first time. He sat bolt upright in bed.  
  
"Harry!" he shouted, his eyes wild, "He asked! He asked me, and I had to, I couldn't help it...I couldn't..."  
  
"Hush," Dumbledore said quietly, placing a hand behind Neville's head. Neville suddenly slumped backwards slightly, as though he were incredibly tired, and Professor Dumbledore guided him back to bed.  
  
"Just a simple calming spell," he said quietly, at the horrified look on their faces, "He's been through quite a bit today."  
  
"Mr. Longbottom," he asked in the same soothing voice, "Can you tell us who asked you these questions?"  
  
"Malfoy," Neville said, fretfully pulling his blankets closer to his chin, as though he were half-asleep, "Draco Malfoy. Stupefied..."  
  
Harry felt his blood boil. He knew it. He knew he'd had something to do with this.  
  
"And what happened next?"  
  
Neville's brow furrowed, and he began to shake again, slightly.  
  
"Woke up...dark. And..." he began to pant slightly, going rigid again, "Please...Please, no..."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said soothingly. Harry saw his face was drawn with sadness. "Perhaps you ought to rest a bit longer."  
  
He brushed Neville's hair out of his face, muttering something under his breath, and Neville instantly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.  
  
Ron yawned to Harry's left, and Hermione elbowed him sharply in the side.  
  
"Ow!...sorry."  
  
"Quite alright, Mr. Weasley – the Morpheus spell is a personal favorite of Molly's. And sometimes I don't know my own strength," Dumbledore whispered, "Now, Harry, what is it you wanted to tell me?"  
  
"It's Malfoy," Harry said, talking rapidly, "I knew it. The password – he was Disillusioned – it was weeks ago. I was by the portrait hole, and Arthur Aaronson told me the password, and I thought I heard something behind me–"  
  
But the door to the hospital wing flew open with a bang, and Argus Filch came lurching in, clutching Draco Malfoy's ear in his gnarled fingers.  
  
"Headmaster," he said with a slight nod, "They told me you'd be here."  
  
"What can I do for you, Argus?" Professor Dumbledore asked. But Harry only saw one thing.  
  
"You..." Harry muttered under his breath. Draco looked up, surprised.  
  
Harry was already on his feet, his wand out. Everything around him seemed to fade to black – the only thing he could see was Draco's drawn face, his white-blonde hair, that disgusting smirk...  
  
"Murderer," Harry thought viciously.  
  
Argus Filch actually let go of Draco Malfoy's ear, and stepped back a few paces, fear written on his face. Harry pointed his wand at Draco's forehead.  
  
"TALK!"  
  
"What? How dare you," Draco huffed, though his sneer was fading quickly, "Who do you think –"  
  
"Harry," cautioned the Headmaster, "I think—"  
  
Harry whipped his arm over to a nearby column, where a large chunk of rock exploded off of it. Gray dust filled the air, and bits of gravel clattered to the stone floor.  
  
He turned his wand back to Draco Malfoy's head, the blood rushing in his ears.  
  
"[I]TALK![/I]"  
  
"What? What do you want me to say?" Draco asked, frantically, "Headmaster, you can't allow –"  
  
"[I]TALK, DAMNIT![/I]"  
  
Draco Malfoy went flying backwards, and landed with a scrape and a tear on the hard granite. Harry advanced upon him, his wand stretched before him.  
  
Hermione, Neville – it was his fault, all of it. He was the reason they'd been put in danger, along with the Dursleys and himself, for that matter. His fault. Everything.  
  
"[I]TALK!![/I]" Harry bellowed, "[I]OR I SWEAR—[/I]"  
  
"Alright!" Malfoy shouted, frantically scrabbling to get up, "Alright! Whatever you want to know, whatever it was, I did it, just put your wand down!"  
  
"[I]Harry![/I]" shrieked Hermione, "[I]Your wand![/I]"  
  
Harry looked at the end of his wand, and to his own horror, saw that the end was glowing a faint green.  
  
He dropped it as though it were scalding hot, and quickly backed way from Draco Malfoy, who was gaping at him in terror, scrabbling against the wall with his hand up to defend his face.  
  
Harry stumbled backwards and felt his legs connect with a hospital bed. They gave way underneath him, as he sank to the white cotton sheets. He stared mutely at his wand hand – he couldn't have seen what he thought he'd seen...no...it must have been some other spell. But what other spell caused a green light?  
  
Suddenly, a profound silence filled the air. Harry looked up, wondering if he'd gone deaf, and was stunned to see Draco Malfoy perfectly frozen – drawing his arm up to protect his face – even the sleeve of his robe seemed frozen in the air...  
  
He looked around the room and saw that everyone was frozen perfectly in time, as though someone had literally just pressed "pause" on existence.  
  
There was a creak of a hospital bed to his right, and Harry jerked his head over to see the Headmaster, rising and walking slowly over to him.  
  
"May I sit down?" he asked quietly.  
  
Harry shifted over slightly, and the Headmaster sat on the opposite end of the bed, his back to Harry.  
  
Harry felt his heart pounding. What had he done? He had nearly performed the worst of all the Unforgiveable Curses...he was no better than Voldemort himself...  
  
"Murderer," said the nasty little voice in his head.  
  
His heart seemed to freeze in his chest – he was going to Azkaban.  
  
That had to be it...that had to be why Dumbledore had stopped time, why he was being so patient...he felt sorry for him. The Dementors were probably going to suck out his soul, just like that Death Eater that morning...the Quidditch game suddenly seemed so far away...He saw Sirius in his mind's eye, and his parents, looking at him with shame in their eyes.  
  
He hung his head in his hands, and gasped for air...he couldn't seem to breathe properly. His eyes filled and spilled over...  
  
"What's happening to me?" he thought desperately.  
  
"You see now, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "How thin the divide between Good and Evil. How simple it is to make one rash mistake, and how painful it is to live with the consequences. You also see, I hope, how little difference there really is between you and Mr. Malfoy, or between Lord Voldemort and myself, for that matter. But the small differences between us are also the most important."  
  
Harry held his breath, tried to get a hold of himself, but the tears just kept coming. For just a moment, he sincerely wanted to die, to be with his parents, and Sirius. He didn't want his friends to suffer because of him anymore, he didn't want the awful responsibility given to him in the prophecy...he realized he didn't even want to be a wizard anymore – he didn't want that kind of power. He just wanted to be a normal kid, going to school and getting beat up by Dudley. But he knew that was impossible now.  
  
"There are only two kinds of magic in the world, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "Those which bring things into the world, and those which take them away. It is up to each of us to decide what we wish to bring into this world, and what we wish to remove from it. Lord Voldemort, in his quest for power, has brought with him death, fear, and hatred. He has taken away loved ones, destroyed happiness, and converted amity to enmity."  
  
Dumbledore sighed deeply, and thought for a moment before he continued speaking.  
  
"So that you know, Harry," Dumbledore said, "It is doubtful that the spell would have worked, even if you had said it. Despite what you may be thinking right now, you do not have an evil heart. The Sorting Hat saw that you have a strong heart...that you are courageous, and loyal to your friends. That you have a need to help others, and set right things that are wrong. The fact that you were so distraught for your friend," he added, with a nod at Neville, frozen in his bed with a look of utter terror on his face, "is a testament to that fact. It is possible of course, that some of the power we just witnessed is related to the connection between you and Lord Voldemort...but I suppose the real truth is, there's no such thing as a good or evil heart. There are simply evil consequences of hasty or selfish choices. Perhaps knowing this can help you better understand Mr. Malfoy, even if you are never fully able to forgive him."  
  
Harry felt the tightness in his chest decreasing slowly, as he forced himself to breathe, and listen to the Headmaster's words.  
  
"We are lucky, Harry. As wizards, we have been endowed with a tremendous gift in our magical powers. But with that gift comes a terrible price. One rash word, spoken in anger or fear, can never be taken back, nor can the consequences ever be fully repaired. And if you are a wizard, the consequences can be truly heinous...one need only reflect on Peter Pettigrew, for example, to see the truth of this. Yet to live completely divorced from our emotions, to wield power without understanding what it is to be human – well, you need only reflect on Lord Voldemort, in this case, to see that this would be equally destructive. It is our responsibility to control our emotions, to feel them without being ruled by them, and to make our own decisions as to what we put into this world. A true wizard is one who governs the power that dwells within him, not one who is governed by that power."  
  
Harry felt his eyes welling up. He had disappointed them all. His father, his mother, Sirius, the Headmaster...How could Hermione and Ron ever look him in the face again?  
  
"I have Obliviated the previous five seconds from everyone's memory, save yours and mine," Dumbledore said, as though reading his mind (which Harry realized he probably was). "I think this will make it easier for you to return to some semblance of normalcy. I also think," he added tenderly, "That you ought to take a bit of pressure off of yourself for a while."  
  
It was Dumbledore's boundless patience and unconditional acceptance that wounded Harry more than anything else. He didn't deserve it.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry stammered, "I – I can't ever say...I'm..."  
  
"There is no need to apologize, Harry," Dumbledore said, "After all, you were the one to drop your wand. Once you realized the grievous error ahead of you, you were the one to refuse it. A weaker wizard would have given in to his selfish need for justice, or revenge. Weaker wizards have. And while I am still very worried about you," he added, "I am still very proud of you, as well."  
  
With that, he stood, and walked back over to Neville's hospital bed where he had been sitting.  
  
A sudden thought occurred to Harry.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore – have you...Have you ever...used the Av – the Killing Curse?"  
  
Dumbledore paused in his tracks, but did not turn around. The air seemed very heavy. Harry felt the seconds ticking by, and he couldn't seem to judge how long it was, there was such a profound lack of sound or movement in the room.  
  
When he turned around, he was smiling gently.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I've gotten quite deaf in my old age. You'll have to forgive me."  
  
Dumbledore's face was implacable, a serene mask of a Cheshire smile, but Harry could feel, rather than see, something there, something he wasn't being told...a deep, deep sadness.  
  
"Perhaps it is time we return to the present moment," Dumbledore said firmly, with some of his old composure.  
  
Harry took a deep breath, and nodded his understanding. The image of his parent's wedding photo wavered in his mind's eye – his mother smiling, flowers in her red hair. His father's amber eyes, and his deliberately messy black hair...one arm around her waist, and one arm around Sirius, laughing his bark-like laugh...  
  
"I will make them proud of me," Harry vowed silently, "I will make them proud. And I will never, [I]never[/I] disappoint Albus Dumbledore again."  
  
Malfoy's arm suddenly jerked into motion, and he scrambled up to the wall, trying to get away from Harry.  
  
"Harry!" cried Hermione, but she paused, and seemed to forget what she was saying.  
  
"It's alright," Harry said, as calmly as he could, "I'm alright. I'm sorry."  
  
"Mr. Filch?" Dumbledore asked as pleasantly as he could. Harry saw that Filch had backed up nearly to the door, and was eyeing him uncomfortably.  
  
"I wonder if you might tell us why you brought Mr. Malfoy here to see me?" 


	33. Chapter ThirtyThree

Argus Filch glanced nervously from the Headmaster, to Malfoy, to Harry.  
  
"It can wait," he said in his gravelly voice, his face contorted between fear and a sneer.  
  
"Nonsense," Dumbledore said in a light, friendly voice, settling himself comfortably on the hospital bed as though he were about to hear a long story, "I think it's high time we got to the bottom of this."  
  
Filch seemed to regain some of his usual charm, and dragged Malfoy up to his feet.  
  
"Thought you'd be interested to know," he said, "I found this one in 'Ogsmeade today. Before the Quidditch match."  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes – that wasn't possible.  
  
"I [I]wasn't[/I] in Hogsmeade!" Draco said petulantly, pointing at Harry, "[I]He'll[/I] tell you! I was at breakfast today! And I went straight to the Quidditch pitch! Even McGonagall saw it!"  
  
"The hair!" Hermione said, "It was you!"  
  
"What hair?" Draco asked, angrily, "What has gotten into everyone? You'd think no one had seen a Dementor before..."  
  
"Draco," Professor Dumbledore said sternly, "Have you been in contact with your father recently?" Harry was surprised to hear the Headmaster use his first name.  
  
Malfoy hesitated ever so slightly.  
  
"No," he said firmly, "And if I did, I wouldn't be likely to tell anyone about it, would I?"  
  
"Of course not," Professor Dumbledore said evenly, "But hypothetically speaking, if you [I]had[/I] spoken to him...might he have asked for certain information? The Gryffindor password for example?"  
  
Malfoy's face turned slightly pale. Hermione stood, her fists balled.  
  
"You foul, despicable, slippery little –"  
  
"That will do, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, with a friendly but curt nod.  
  
"And the hair?" Harry asked angrily, "And the uniform? You gave them to your father as well, didn't you?"  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Malfoy spat with disgust.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, you understand, I hope, the seriousness of this situation. If, in fact, you aided a Death Eater in entering the school –"  
  
Harry was surprised to note that Malfoy's eyes suddenly went wide, and he looked over at Neville – he seemed to have panic written on his face.  
  
"Maybe...he really didn't know," Harry begrudgingly admitted, "Maybe he was being used by Death Eaters just as much as any of us."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. The Death Eaters were here today. And if, in fact, you aided a Death Eater in entering the school, it would be a serious violation of wizarding law. I would not be able to protect you, Mr. Malfoy. You would be expelled, your wand would be snapped, and you would be forced to stand trial before the Wizengamot. You might even be sent to Azkaban, for a period of time," Dumbledore added, peering at Malfoy sternly over the rim of his spectacles, "I think it would behoove you to be honest with me at this point."  
  
Malfoy squirmed uncomfortably.  
  
"He's my father."  
  
"So I take it you have been in contact with him?" Professor Dumbledore pried.  
  
Malfoy scowled at the floor, panic flitting behind his poker face. Harry had a feeling he wanted to get himself off the hook, but didn't dare incriminate his father.  
  
"All I'm saying, is that if he were to ask me for something...something like the Gryffindor password...I'd give it to him."  
  
Harry smiled grimly. That was it – they had a confession. Malfoy would be expelled.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his voice gaining resonance and volume, "Do you fully understand your actions? Because of you, several students nearly died today...Did you even pause to think [I]why[/I] your father wanted that information?"  
  
"What am I supposed to do about it?" burst Malfoy, angrily, "He's my father! And when my father asks a question, you give him an answer, not more questions! What do you think would happen if I refused?"  
  
Harry was horrified to see the emotion on Draco's face. He didn't want to see Draco like this – not now, not ever. He had to hate him – it was absolutely necessary that he hate Draco Malfoy with all his might...Malfoy. Malfoy, not Draco. He would never call him Draco.  
  
"Besides!" Malfoy said, drawing himself up taller, "Who says my father [I]is[/I] a Death Eater?"  
  
"Draco," Dumbledore said, his eyes surprisingly tender, "You and I both know perfectly well that your father [I]is[/I] a Death Eater. I've seen him with Lord Voldemort himself. He was tried, and put in Azkaban for months—"  
  
"That's a [I]lie![/I]" Draco said, his eyes flashing, "He was acting under the Imperius! You and your [I]favorites[/I]," he fumed, waving his hand at Harry, Ron and Hermione, "Think that unless we worship the ground you walk on, we must be Death Eaters! Well I'm never going to join your little [I]fan club.[/I] I'm never going to kiss the ground that scar-head walks on! And I'm not going to turn in my own father just to keep you happy! Expell me if you want to, I don't care."  
  
Dumbledore sighed deeply.  
  
"I am assigning you a month of detention," he said, "You are also banned from playing Quidditch for the rest of the year, and all Hogsmeade visits. I have no wish to expell you Mr. Malfoy, or turn you over to the Ministry. But if you insist on this misguided loyalty to your father, I can foresee no other alternative."  
  
Having escaped expulsion for the second time that year, Malfoy stood a bit straighter, smirking.  
  
"Yes, [I]sir[/I]," he said, with just a hint of derision, "Is that all? May I go collect my punishment now?"  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact," Dumbledore said, and Harry thought he saw a slight twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, "Why don't you go to Professor Snape, and explain exactly what we've discussed here today. You'll be serving your detentions with him."  
  
Malfoy's face blanched slightly, and his arrogant posture deflated.  
  
"Apparently he's not Snape's favorite anymore," Harry smirked to himself.  
  
His smirk faded slightly as he recalled what Snape had said on the Quidditch pitch, after they'd found Hermione...that he would be "appropriately punished." Just what had Snape done to Malfoy that had him so scared?  
  
Filch led Malfoy out of the room, with a smug grin on his gnarled face – he didn't care too much about the logistics – Harry was confident he hadn't understood most of what was just said. So long as someone was getting punished, he was content.  
  
"I think," Professor Dumbledore said, "It would probably be best if the three of you found Professor Lupin. He's been worried sick."  
  
"Headmaster, that's the second time Malfoy [I]hasn't[/I] been expelled!" Ron interjected hotly, "If any of us tried something like that –"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Weasley, but it wasn't any of you – it was Mr. Malfoy. What do you think is the first thing that would happen once he was expelled?" Dumbledore asked wearily, "His father would recruit him to the Death Eaters in an instant. He nearly has already, and he bears enough of a grudge against us as it is – being expelled would be all the convincing he'd need to join the Death Eaters, if only to have the opportunity to strike back at the school, at me, or at the three of you. Besides which, if his father failed to convince him, he would simply use other, less legal means of persuasion. No, at Hogwarts, at the very least, I am able to watch over him as best I can. Though it seems," he added, his face careworn, "That I have failed in that aim as well."  
  
Ron shuffled uncomfortably, "I didn't mean...Malfoy's just an evil twit, sir. It's not your fault."  
  
"Alas, I fear that is where you're wrong, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said with a world-weary sigh, "You see, Draco Malfoy is caught between a rock and a hard place, so to speak. Contrary to what you might think, he hates Voldemort, the Death Eaters, and his father almost as much as he hates all of us."  
  
Harry wrinkled his nose doubtfully. "If he hates the Death Eaters so much, why is he so keen to help them? Besides, all they've done is try to get rid of all of us for the past six years. Seems they're doing him a favor."  
  
But Dumbledore shook his head, and continued, "Voldemort stole his father away. He knows that there is no room in his Lucius Malfoy's heart to ever love him, that Voldemort has precluded that possibility, and his mother's heart is completely consumed with Lucius. Draco has always believed that he can never be loved by another human being. In its place, like his father, he prizes power and respect above all else. All Draco can hope for is to make his father proud. And as he alternately fails and succeeds in that goal, he both loves and hates himself, and loves and hates his father."  
  
"So let him go to an Observer!" Ron retorted, "And leave us the hell alone!"  
  
"Observer?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh, sorry mate," Ron added, "I keep forgetting."  
  
"Someone who looks at your thoughts and tells you what they see," Hermione explained swiftly, "Like a magical psychologist, of sorts."  
  
"It's not so much what he's [I]thinking,[/I]" Harry said impatiently, "So much as what he's [I]doing[/I]."  
  
"Yet every action is the end result of a thought," Dumbledore said, with a glance at Harry's shoulder. Harry lowered his head. He now knew only too well how true that was.  
  
"And for Draco Malfoy, those thoughts are deeply bitter and misguided. He draws closer and closer to a point of no return, and it frightens him at the same time. Yet even now you see how loyal he is to his father – pride, power, and loyalty are all he has ever known. I fear he will never separate his own destiny from that of his family's before it is too late. Already he has come close to Azkaban several times this year. Once he is in Ministry hands, I can't hold out much hope that he will ever change for the better. The hurt he suppresses will become rage against the world at large, and he will never gain satisfaction."  
  
The infirmary was quiet for a while. Harry knew that Professor Dumbledore cared about the students, and wanted to see them succeed – but he never imagined that he expended too much worry over the likes of Draco Malfoy.  
  
"I am deeply sorry to the three of you that Mr. Malfoy has caused you such pain this year. But you see, it really is for the best that he remain here. I fear the damage he might do would triple if he were expelled."  
  
"We understand, Professor," Hermione said, "We'll go find Professor Lupin...we don't mean to keep you."  
  
She subtly nudged Ron towards the door, and Harry stood to follow.  
  
"Harry? A word before you go?"  
  
Hermione successfully pushed Ron out into the hallway.  
  
"Yes, Professor?"  
  
"Remember – you always have a choice," Dumbledore said with a nod, "It is this fact that Mr. Malfoy has forgotten. Perhaps...you can find a way to remind him, where I have been unable to do so."  
  
Harry felt a sudden burst of helpless annoyance. Just what else was he expected to do this year? Kill Voldemort, unite the houses, "heal the Divide," whatever that meant, and now, ask Draco to play nicely with others?  
  
Harry sighed, "I'll try, sir."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, and Harry went to meet Ron and Hermione in the hallway.  
  
"Miserable, arrogant little milksop," Lupin said fiercely, "I'd like to teach him some manners."  
  
"Err, you're a Hogwarts Professor...Professor," Hermione interjected timidly.  
  
"I'm also Harry's...Well, I don't know what I am specifically, but it's reason enough to trounce the little berk. Let Dumbledore fire me. Nobody else will take this bloody post."  
  
Ron snorted gleefully, and Hermione shot him a glare.  
  
"Sorry, it's just funny to hear a Professor talk about thumping Malfoy," he said, a dreamy look in his eyes.  
  
"Professor Snape would take this ruddy post," Hermione reminded Lupin, "And that's why we need you here. Besides, you're the best Defense teacher we've had yet, and we're ages behind."  
  
Lupin sighed dejectedly, and sat at his desk, absentmindedly shooting some sparks at a grindylow, which had been creeping its webbed fingers over the edge of its tank.  
  
"I know," he said, "It's a few days until full moon, and I'm irritable enough as it is without that..."  
  
He interrupted himself with a deep breath, and smiled gently at Harry.  
  
"Not setting a terribly good example, am I? Sorry."  
  
Harry grinned, "Not to worry. We've been wanting to trounce him for ages."  
  
"You nearly did, back there," Ron said, impressed, "That makes two of us today that've nearly beaten him to a pulp."  
  
"I [I]don't[/I] think that's something we ought to be proud of, necessarily," Hermione said severely.  
  
"Come off it, you're the one that hit him in third year."  
  
"Yes," Hermione said, staring reminiscently over their heads, "That [I]did[/I] feel good."  
  
But Harry remained quiet, grinning vaguely. Neither of them remembered...neither knew just how close he'd come to...  
  
He pushed it out of his mind.  
  
"Have you pieced together exactly what happened yet?" Lupin asked, "You've seen the Headmaster more recently than I have."  
  
"Well, Malfoy was seen in Hogsmeade this morning," Hermione said, "Which is impossible – he was at breakfast. So we know that Nott was posing as Malfoy to get into the school."  
  
"He got in through the Shrieking Shack," Harry added quietly, "We think Pettigrew must have told him."  
  
Lupin's face clouded over at the sound of the name.  
  
"They ought to be in Azkaban," Lupin said, bitterly, "How [I]ironic.[/I] Sirius spends nearly his entire adulthood in Azkaban for something he never did, and meanwhile Malfoys one and two are running amok. Not to mention Pettigrew."  
  
He spat the name out, his face contorted into a scowl. Suddenly, he stood, and turned to face the blackboard on the pretense of erasing some of the day's notes. The trio made eye contact with one another.  
  
"We should probably get back to our common room," Hermione said, "It's getting late."  
  
"No, don't run off. Forgive me," Lupin said, turning around, his eyes red, "I didn't mean to be rude. I just...miss my friend." He coughed, and sat down at the desk, forcing a brisk smile, "But it's not all bad."  
  
"It's not?" Ron asked, mopily.  
  
"No, of course not. You're all safe, for now. And tomorrow's Hogsmeade, isn't it?" Lupin said with a wink, "A whole twenty-four hours until you have to see him again."  
  
"Finding the light in the darkness, eh?" Harry asked with a feeble grin. Lupin winced slightly at Harry's grin, and Harry realized he probably shouldn't have reminded him of James just now.  
  
"So then," Lupin said, changing the subject, "It was Malfoy who gave them the uniform, and one of his hairs for the Polyjuice?"  
  
"Actually, I don't think so," Harry said, frowning, "He seemed really surprised when he heard that there was a Death Eater in the school today – I think he thought it was just a Dementor attack."  
  
"Well, his father could have gotten the hair easily enough," Hermione interjected thoughtfully, "From his mother – she could have found it in his room, or maybe a hairbrush he left at home. And the uniform could have been owl ordered from Madame Malkins. His mother could've just said she was ordering a new one for him."  
  
"True," Lupin said, nodding, "Also, it seems unlikely that Voldemort would involve Draco Malfoy overmuch, especially with something so important. He is, after all, still a teenager."  
  
"Oi!" Ron said, feigning offense, "We're teenagers!"  
  
"Yes," Lupin said with a wink, "And thank your lucky stars. You might not believe me but these are the best years—"  
  
"Right, so they keep tellin' us," Ron said, rolling his eyes.  
  
"He did give his father the Gryffindor password, though," Hermione said, her eyes narrowed, "And tipped him off that Neville was the Secret Keeper. So let's not let him off the hook entirely."  
  
"I still say Dumbledore's barmy to hold out any hope for that slimy git," Ron said bluntly, "But then, I've always said he was nuts. Brilliant, but barmy."  
  
"So he enters the school as Malfoy," Lupin said, frowning in concentration, "And waits for the Dementor attack as a diversion. Then, he goes for Neville, questions him, and takes on his appearance...and after he's gotten all his answers, he sneaks into Gryffindor's common room and..."  
  
"Makes a clean job of it," Harry muttered.  
  
"But why did the Dementors kill Nott, anyway?" Ron asked, furrowing his brow, "If they were working together?"  
  
"He failed," Lupin said, bluntly, "Failed in his mission. Dead men tell no tales, Ron. Voldemort didn't want to give us the chance to ask him any questions. And speaking of asking questions," Lupin asked Harry nervously, "Just how much did Neville tell him? You [I]have[/I] taken all the necessary precautions, haven't you?"  
  
"He couldn't tell him too much," Harry said, "Neville still thought that he was the Secret Keeper – I never got the chance to tell him I'd switched to—"  
  
"Stop!" Lupin said holding up a hand, "I don't want to know."  
  
"Sorry," Harry said, "I never got the chance to tell him I'd switched. So he couldn't tell him the address, and he couldn't tell him who my Secret Keeper was."  
  
Harry shuddered. He didn't want to think about what Nott had done to Neville – he must have panicked when he realized Neville didn't have the answers his master wanted...he would have done anything to get them...  
  
"It must have been awful."  
  
"Now listen, Harry, I know what you're thinking, and I can't let you keep blaming yourself for everything that happens around here," Lupin said, gently, "It's a bad habit. Neville understood the risks when he agreed. And I'm sure," he said delicately, staring fixedly at his desk, "That whoever you chose to be your Secret Keeper now, understands as well."  
  
"What's going on with the Order?" Hermione asked nervously, anxious to change the subject. Harry winced as she shifted a bit closer to Ron, protectively.  
  
"Well, Dumbledore has several of us on special assignments. Recon, or diplomatic, mainly," he said evasively, "That reminds me, Charlie won't be home for Christmas. And Hagrid, Firenze, and I are working this break, but I'll stop in from time to time. Oh," he added, sadly, "I think we know what happened to Kingsley."  
  
"What happened?" Harry asked, his stomach dropping slightly – Lupin's voice didn't sound too encouraging.  
  
"Well, suffice it to say, we know where Nott got the Snackbox."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Dumbledore finally asked at a general meeting if anyone in the Order had seen Kinglsey, and Fred and George said they'd seen him in the shop just a few days ago."  
  
"He can't have...I mean, he's a good guy, right?" Ron asked nervously.  
  
"I'm sure it's Death Eater's influence," Lupin said sadly, "Fred and George said he seemed distracted. Spoke as if he didn't know them. At the time, they just assumed he wanted to stay under cover. But more likely, he wasn't just distracted, his eyes were blank. It sounds like the Imperius to me."  
  
"So what are you going to do now?" Harry asked.  
  
"There's not much we can do, until he surfaces again. If he surfaces again," Lupin said quietly.  
  
The four of them sat quietly for moment. Harry wondered just what he would do himself, if confronted with a Death Eater lurking in his friends' heads. He thought back to that very afternoon, when Nott had nearly killed him, in the guise of Neville...It was so surreal, he hadn't even thought to defend himself.  
  
"Bill!" Ron shouted suddenly, straightening up in alarm, "We haven't heard from him in—"  
  
"The Order has," Lupin said, with a smile, "He's on assignment with Fleur. No need to worry, they'll be home for Christmas. And your parents know, already, so best not let them know I told you."  
  
"'They'll' be home for Christmas?" Harry asked, eager to shift the topic to something lighter, "Since when are they a 'they?'"  
  
Lupin smiled, "I'm not sure I'm the one to tell you. Ron probably already knows more than I do."  
  
Ron shrugged, "Bill's been screwing up the courage to ask her for a while now, but I never thought he would. Dunno, maybe they really will get married. Mum'll go bananas...doesn't care much for Fleur."  
  
"Don't I remember someone telling Fleur Delacoeur that he was going to join the Chudley Cannons?" Harry asked, with a smirk, "Or was it 'world's youngest Minister of Magic?'"  
  
"Shut up, Harry," Ron muttered through a grin, as he turned red, "That was ages ago."  
  
"Well, I'm very pleased for Bill," Hermione sniffed.  
  
Lupin laughed, and even though he was annoyed at Hermione's jealousy, Harry felt his spirits lift a little bit.  
  
Just as they were leaving, Lupin called him back into the room.  
  
"Sorry, I know this keeps happening to you lot, but I'd really like a word with Harry," he apologized.  
  
"It's alright, we're used to it," Ron quipped.  
  
"We'll meet you in the common room, Harry," Hermione said, with a smile and a wave. Harry felt his heart sink as Hermione grabbed Ron's hand.  
  
"Okay," he managed, with a grin, "See you later."  
  
After they'd left, Lupin eyed Harry strangely for a moment.  
  
"What?" Harry asked, fearing that Lupin somehow sensed his discomfort with Ron and Hermione.  
  
Lupin laughed quietly under his breath. "Nothing," he said softly, "You know, I always think you're exactly like your father, Harry, but maybe you're more like me than I realize."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, with a grin. He had a feeling there was a story behind that comment.  
  
Lupin waved him off, shaking his head, "Oh no, that's for another time, Harry. You know, you're going to think this makes me sound terribly old, but it's been a real pleasure to watch you grow up these past few years."  
  
"It's been a pleasure to be [I]alive[/I], these past few years," Harry groused, "Hope I survive all this. Wouldn't want to disappoint."  
  
Lupin laughed, "Come on now, you shouldn't say things like that. You've evaded death so many times, you don't want to jinx it now."  
  
But they both knew Harry hadn't really been joking, and they sat in the quiet for a while, thinking back through the day's events.  
  
"How are you doing?" Lupin asked, "With Sirius, I mean?"  
  
Harry was both saddened and surprised to realize he didn't feel the accompanying restriction in his chest, or the smarting of his eyes at Sirius's name. For a moment, he wondered if he ought to, then realized that perhaps he really was moving on. He shrugged, "Better, I think. I'm still...I hate that it happened, but I can't change it now. I miss him."  
  
Lupin smiled gently. "Better than me, then."  
  
Harry shifted his weight to the other foot, awkwardly. "He was your friend. You knew him for longer."  
  
Lupin nodded quietly. "You know, Harry, that I've told you...you don't have to be strong. You have people you can rely on."  
  
Harry carefully avoided Lupin's eye. He could hear the wavering in his voice. Harry had a feeling Lupin was saying this more for himself than for his sake.  
  
"Yeah," he said, "Same here. I mean, you don't have to be brave for me, or anything. I'll be okay."  
  
Lupin nodded, and swallowed before he spoke.  
  
"I'm sorry about all this," he said, with a chuckle, indicating his red eyes, "It's just this business with you nearly dying today, and Neville nearly dying, and Kingsley missing, or worse...Tonks is a wreck, you know. And...well...I got to thinking about...[I]my[/I] friends...especially..." Lupin interrupted himself quickly.  
  
"And I'm just a bit—"  
  
He broke off, and massaged his temples for a moment. When he looked up, Harry saw his scarred face was streaked with tears.  
  
"He took them all away from me, Harry," he said quietly, as though realizing it for the first time, "I'm the only one [I]left![/I]"  
  
Harry tried to think of something comforting to say, and remembered what Luna had told him.  
  
"But...you'll see them again," he offered feebly.  
  
"I see them every day," Lupin choked quietly, "In your face – But it's like having my nose pressed up against the glass...They were brilliant and beautiful and [I]good[/I]...and He stole them all."  
  
He covered his face with his hands. Harry felt paralyzed – he had no idea what to do. He considered patting Lupin on the shoulder, but it seemed such thoroughly inadequate thing to do, it was almost ridiculous. Before he could decide what to say, Lupin took a great breath, and sat up.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, mopping his face, and sounding a bit like his old self, "I never intended for you to see that."  
  
"It's fine," Harry said, still feeling somewhat frozen, "Really."  
  
Lupin stood, and crossed over to the mirror that was hanging in the corner. He mopped his face one final time, and then turned to smile at Harry.  
  
"You don't still happen to have that mirror, that Sirius gave you?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Harry said, surprised that Lupin knew about it, "But it won't—"  
  
"Work, I know," Lupin finished with a smile, "Just thought you'd like to have it. I've kept the other end, should you ever want to talk to me. We'll have to reenchant them, though. Sirius was the one who put the enchantment on them, and..."  
  
He stopped himself, and smiled, "Have you read his letter, yet?"  
  
Harry remembered with a slight jolt that Sirius had left a stack of parchments and a letter for him to read.  
  
"No!" he said, eager to cheer Lupin up, "Shall I go get it? We can read it together."  
  
Lupin smiled, and shook his head, "That's for you, Harry. Besides, I don't think that's a very good idea today, not for me. I just wanted to see how you were doing...and...well, I hope I didn't upset you."  
  
He paused, chuckled to himself, "Sirius always said I took things too much to heart. I suppose I can be a bit melodramatic. You know if he saw me like this, he'd just laugh."  
  
Harry smiled, and nodded.  
  
"Go on, now," Lupin said, "Your friends are waiting. That's enough reminiscing for one day. I think I'm going to tidy up here and head down to the Three Broomsticks for a bit, instead of mope here all alone. The four of us used to go there all the time. Practically had to carry James home, most nights."  
  
"You know," Harry said, with a grin, "You were still in school. That's against the law."  
  
"And don't you forget it!" Lupin said, winking at Harry, "You lot behave yourselves at Hogsmeade tomorrow. And do be safe," he added seriously, "Stick together, and—"  
  
"We'll be fine," Harry interrupted with a grin, "Really."  
  
Lupin nodded, and paused for a moment.  
  
"Enjoy them, Harry."  
  
Harry smiled by way of an answer, and with a final wink, Lupin set about straightening up the classroom.  
  
Later that night, Harry sat in bed with Sirius's papers still tied in a neat bundle in his lap. For a while he seriously thought about reading them. He finally decided though, that it wasn't the right time. He wanted to save them, somehow, for the perfect moment. He decided to put them back in his trunk. Harry heard Ron's mattress creaking as he rolled over – he was muttering in his sleep again. He grinned to himself, as he shut the trunk, and climbed back into bed. He was about to pull the curtains closed, when he glanced at Neville's bed, still empty. He realized with a start that they'd left the candy out on the bench in the hallway...  
  
"Madame Pomfrey will have realized," Harry thought, "Or Dumbledore. We'll pick him something up in Hogsmeade tomorrow."  
  
For a while, Harry thought about Draco Malfoy. Yet however much he tried to screw up his hatred, he just couldn't seem to do it. He'd come so close himself, to...  
  
...but he pushed that away. He knew that Draco might never be a "good guy," but he was amazed to find himself hoping that he would be alright, that he'd figure everything out before it was too late.  
  
Harry heaved a sigh and settled in to bed. He found his mind wandering to his friends, and also to Lupin, and his friends. It had been a very difficult day, but it had also reminded him of what was really important.  
  
He smiled a half-sad, half-happy smile, and nodded off to sleep. 


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

That Hogsmeade trip would stand out in Harry's mind as the best out of all his Hogwarts years. Day broke bright and crystal clear – it had flurried overnight, and there was an inch of snow dusted all over the town. The cold made everyone's breath hang on the air, but there was no wind, and the sun beat down pleasantly on their flushed faces.  
  
Harry raced Ron down the stairs to find Hermione ready and waiting, already bundled up in her frumpy winter coat, her pitifully deformed hat and scarf bearing testimony to her S.P.E.W. knitting skills.  
  
"Come on!" she said, her eyes shining brightly, "I've been waiting for you two!"  
  
"Can't have been more than five minutes!" Ron said, but Harry noticed he was grinning widely as well, zipping up his threadbare parka.  
  
As they walked through Hogsmeade, Harry reflected that it was probably irrational that the events of the past few days had not made him miserable, as he'd expected, but completely happy. Something about this latest brush with death had been the last straw, in a way, and Harry sensed that the three of them were vigorously, almost recklessly cheerful, as though in defiance. After all, there were only so many times you can cheat death before even a normal day seems remarkable.  
  
Maybe it was what Lupin had said, but he found himself sneaking glances at the two of them as they were walking, drinking in tiny details. How dazzlingly white and perfectly straight Hermione's teeth were...how Ron's red hair was lit up like a fire-red halo in the November sunshine. Rather than feel embarrassed by the fraying and wear on Ron's coat, as he normally did, he found it made him smile. And when Hermione's sneaking in the corners smile suddenly erupted into a wide, helpless laugh, he nearly felt light- headed. He was seized with a sudden fear that he'd wake to find this was all a dream.  
  
"What?"  
  
Harry snapped out of his reverie to realize Hermione had caught him staring at her. Ron was chortling, and Harry realized he must have had a pretty odd expression on.  
  
"Sorry," he said, laughing at himself apologetically, "Not important."  
  
"What was [I]that[/I]?" Ron chortled.  
  
"You had this goofy smile on, like you were daydreaming, and all of sudden, it was as though you'd remembered you left the stove on," Hermione laughed, "And your face just..." She put on a comically helpless expression as though she were both concerned and bewildered. Ron howled with laughter.  
  
"Shut up, I don't look like [I]that[/I]," Harry grinned, blushing. But he could see Hermione's eyes piercing him beneath the laughter, seeking beneath the smile.  
  
"You are alright, aren't you?"  
  
"I'm fine!" Harry said casually, gesturing at the town, "It's just so...perfect, today. I was beginning to worry it was a dream."  
  
"You would worry about something like that!" Ron said, scooping up some snow, and flinging it at Harry. Unfortunately, he hadn't really packed it together, and Hermione stood with her mouth hanging open, snow clinging to her shocked expression.  
  
"You!"  
  
Harry watched as Hermione scooped up a fist full of snow, and let her get most of it down Ron's collar before he joined in, mashing a handful of snow to her ear. This earned him a shrill shriek, and a wallop from her bookbag. Ron was laughing helplessly, still trying to shake the snow out of his collar.  
  
"Shut it, you," Hermione said with mock severity, and she trod on his foot lightly.  
  
They started out at Honeydukes, where Ron and Harry stocked up on Chocolate Frogs, Pepper Imps, Ice Mice, and Bertie Botts. Harry and Ron convinced Hermione to try a Fizzing Whizbee with them – unbeknownst to her, they had traded theirs for Muggle gum balls. After Harry and Ron had had a good laugh (and threatened to tote her about Hogsmeade by her scarf like a balloon), Harry cast the simple gravity spell printed on the inside of the wrapper, and Hermione sank back to the floor.  
  
"Gained a little weight, have you? Go on Harry, put some more on," Ron quipped, shielding himself from Hermione's bookbag.  
  
From Honeydukes they went to Zonko's, where Hermione half-heartedly reminded them that most of the products were banned from school, before allowing herself to be led around the store. And while he and Ron were waiting at the cashier's queue, Harry actually caught her taking a second look at an Exploding Snap set.  
  
After some hot butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks (where Hermione ruthlessly regaled Harry with the sad saga of Ron's desperate, unrequited pining for Madame Rosemerta), they stepped blinking into the afternoon sun, and wondered what to do next. Ron was busy admiring his new Gobstones (Harry had lent him the twelve Sickles, with dire oaths from Ron that it would be paid in full), and Hermione was sucking pensievely on a jawbreaker.  
  
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure there's anything left for us to do, really."  
  
"Nonsense," Ron said, "We can go to Zonko's."  
  
"We just came from Zonko's," Hermione said, with an exasperated grin, "As much as you love that place, Ron, I don't think it's any different now that it was an hour ago."  
  
"We could try out some of what we bought," Ron said with a wink at Harry.  
  
Hermione was about to open her mouth to protest, when Harry suggested, "Well, we are sixth years. We've been here plenty of times by now."  
  
"I remember a Hogsmeade visit couldn't last long enough!" Ron said, looking slightly crestfallen.  
  
"Isn't it odd? We've only got a year and a half left of school – I feel like we just got here," Hermione said, glancing about the town.  
  
Harry felt a very slight panic tugging at his stomach, and decided to change the subject.  
  
"Let's head back. It's a bit cold anyway. We can go tickle the pear, get something to eat, and spend the rest of the day in the common room."  
  
"Yeah!" Ron said, his eyes lighting up, "It'll be empty. We can play chess...And I think Seamus has more of those fluffy things..."  
  
"Marshmallows," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "You [I]really[/I] ought to take Muggle—"  
  
"Sounds great," Harry said with a grin.  
  
Later that night, the three of them huddled around the dying fire. Harry and Ron had just finished an epic wizard's chess battle, which Ron had won by the skin of his teeth.  
  
"It was the queen," Harry said, with a big stretch.  
  
"Right," Ron agreed with a yawn, "Once I had her, it was curtains from there, mate. Well played, though."  
  
Hermione moaned quietly from her place on the couch, and rolled over awkwardly, the pages of the her book having left small red lines on her cheek. Harry and Ron shared a grin, but managed not to laugh.  
  
"Oh," she said, blearily propping a pillow under her head, "Who won?"  
  
"Who d'you think?" Ron said, with a cocky grin.  
  
"Chuck me another of those," Harry said, pointing at the bag of marshmallows they had liberated from Seamus's trunk. ("Well, he hadn't even locked it. Practially an invitation," as Ron explained.)  
  
They relaxed and chatted about small nothings as people slowly clomped back into the common room, stamping the last of the melted snow off their shoes. A little later, Ginny came clomping in with Neville in tow, who had just been released by Madame Pomfrey. A small celebration ensued, where they all sat about the fire and related what they'd done that day. Harry was so relieved to see Neville back to his old self, he promptly gave him all of his Droobles Blowing Gum. Dean, Seamus, Parvati and Lavender arrived shortly with smuggled butterbeers, though Harry had to share his with Ron, as Seamus wouldn't give him one.  
  
"Oi, where's mine?" Ron asked in dismay.  
  
Seamus indicated the bag of marshmallows with his bottle. "Why don' ye just have another look in my trunk, Ron, maybe it's in there!"  
  
They stayed at their spot by the fire until long after the first and second years retired to bed. Finally, they couldn't stall any longer.  
  
"I hate Sunday nights," Parvati said, heaving a sigh, "It gets poisoned."  
  
Ron snorted, "At least you don't have to take Potions anymore. Talk about poison."  
  
Hermione suddenly gasped, "Ron! We haven't studied!"  
  
Ron shrugged uncomfortably, "Who cares? It's the day after Hogsmeade, no one's studied. The teachers know that."  
  
But Harry's conscience was gnawing at him as well – he had a feeling none of the teachers were inclined to go easy on them, not in NEWT level courses. He mentally promised to spend more time studying and less time goofing off.  
  
Sensing that the buzz had decidedly been killed, most of the Gryffindors turned in for the night. Harry left Ron and Hermione in the common room, bickering.  
  
"Just ten minutes. It's better than nothing."  
  
"If it won't make that much difference, why bother?"  
  
"Ronald Weasley – "  
  
"I'll work better if I'm well-rested...Besides, I know you well enough to know what 'ten minutes' really means..."  
  
Harry sighed comfortably, and headed up the stone staircase.  
  
Later that night, he was just about to nod off to sleep, when he heard the door quietly creak open, and heard Ron's stocking feet padding along the wooden floor, heard the rustle of the bed hangings and the creak of the mattress as Ron settled in to bed.  
  
Harry pulled his own aside slightly.  
  
"Psst – Ron."  
  
There was a brief pause.  
  
"Mm?" Ron asked from behind the curtain, and Harry could hear the yawn in his voice, "What's up, Harry?"  
  
"She finally let you go, eh?"  
  
"Yeah," Ron muttered wearily. Harry heard the blankets rustling, and Ron poked his head out of the curtains. "Still think she's wasting her time to be honest. I'm just thick, that's all."  
  
"No you're not," Harry said reassuringly, "It just takes a lot of work. You'll make it."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
They were quiet again for a while, and Ron ducked back behind the curtains. Harry followed suit, settling onto the pillows.  
  
"Good day, eh?"  
  
"Yeah," Ron whispered, and Harry could almost see his smile, "Great day."  
  
Harry took his glasses off, and set them on his end table with a dull clatter. "G'night, Ron."  
  
"'Night."  
  
Harry took a deep yawn, and before he knew it, he was asleep.  
  
He was walking through Hogsmeade again, with Ron and Hermione. But the already cold day seemed to suddenly get much colder – they turned up their collars as the sun went behind a cloud, but before they knew it they were nearly frozen to the core. The smiles died on their lips, and with a feeling of dread, they realized it wasn't a cloud that was blocking out the sun, but Dementors – hundreds of them, swarming and swirling. Riding on one of their backs, his normally round, boyish face gaunt and pale with death, was Neville. He pointed angrily at Harry, and the Dementor he was riding slowly followed suit with his own bony claws.  
  
"It's him! He's the one that killed me!"  
  
Harry's scar suddenly twinged in sharp, searing pain. He squinted, and clapped a hand to his forehead. Forcing his eyes open, he looked up, and saw that Neville wasn't Neville at all, but –  
  
"It's him!" cried Sirius, pointing angrily at Harry from his place on the Dementor's back, "He's the one that killed me!"  
  
The Dementors swooped towards the three of them. Harry turned to run, but he felt like his legs were cement – every step seemed to take an age. He heard Ron shriek from behind him, and turned to watch him being lifted up into the air, just like Neville...The Dementors had Hermione by the hair, and were dragging her off towards the Quidditch Pitch. He reached for his wand, but it wasn't there. A high, cold laugh was ringing in his ears – he heard his mother screaming.  
  
Suddenly, he found himself back in the Department of Mysteries, in the blue torch room. The door to the amphitheater was once again open, exhaling a hiss of cold air that wrapped around Harry's ankles and seemed to pull him closer.  
  
"HHHhhhhhhhahaaaaarrrrryyyy..." called Sirius's sepulchural voice.  
  
Harry looked down, and saw that he was carrying the mirror that Sirius had given him.  
  
"Did you think I was lying?" asked the high, cold voice sinuously, almost tenderly.  
  
Images flashed in his mind. Neville being lifted up by the Dementors flitted briefly in his mind. Ron, panting and screaming, his shadow looming on the wall as Harry tried to reach him. Harry saw a hand, Sirius's hand, slowly pushing aside the veil of the stone archway...  
  
"A trade then," Voldemort hissed.  
  
Suddenly, the dream seemed to cease. There was no sound. No image. Just darkness...Harry thought that he'd woken up at first, but when he tried to open his eyes, there was only more darkness.  
  
His scar let out a sudden burst of pain, and he found he was back by the Whomping Willow, near the Quidditch pitch. He was watching Neville being lifted up by the Dementors, the loose strands of hair wafting from the rotting, leathery scalp. He tried to look away, but it was as though a hand had grabbed him by the chin and jerked his eyes back to Neville. The dream suddenly froze in place, and Harry's eyes seemed to zoom in, as though he were looking through a pair of Omniocculars. He found himself staring at Neville's face. But suddenly, the image flickered – suddenly it wasn't Neville's face, but Nott's pock-marked one, stricken with fear.  
  
His scar nearly exploded in pain. He felt rage, uncontrollable rage.  
  
Suddenly, before his swimming vision, he saw the burning red eyes, the slitted nostrils –  
  
"[I]YYYYYYYYYYYYOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU![/I]" roared Voldemort, the cold voice echoing and reverberating painfully in his head, the sound of pure, undisguised hatred.  
  
In that brief moment, Harry saw glimpses – Hogwarts was burning, and the stone archways were crumbling. Students were running, screaming through the hallways. Dementors swooped through the hallways. At his feet, Ron was lying dead.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Harry lept up in bed, and came face to face with Ron, his face as white as a sheet. 


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

"For the last time, I'm not telling him," Harry whispered angrily, and returned to his History of Magic notebook under the pretense of taking notes.  
  
"Harry, why [I]wouldn't[/I] you tell him?" Ron whispered angrily. He, Harry, and Neville were sitting in back of normal-level History of Magic.  
  
"Which is the polite way of saying, 'You got a T on your OWL,' you great lummox," Harry thought, depressed. He scanned the room at the people who were either sleeping or scribbling notes with a desperate look in their eye, and wished he was in NEWT-level history with Hermione – If Binns was going to drone on and on in the same way no matter what, he could at least listen to NEWT-level droning.  
  
"Don't I get a say in this," Ron asked Neville, in a play for support. "Seeing as I'm the one who dies in it, and all?"  
  
Neville shrugged uncomfortably.  
  
"It's Harry's dream. He's the one who has to decide," he said hesitantly, "But I wish you would go, Harry. The other day, I almost..."  
  
He trailed off nervously, and Harry felt his stomach sink a bit. They'd gone after Neville because they'd thought he was his Secret Keeper...  
  
"Well," Neville said, sensing Harry's discomfort, "It's not important. But I think you should go to Dumbledore, just in case."  
  
"But that's just [I]it[/I], Neville!" Ron said, a bit too loudly, "It [I]is[/I] important!"  
  
"Arthur Weasley, that is the second time today I have had to ask you to be quiet in my class. Five points from Gryffindor. Are you quite through?"  
  
"It's Ron," he muttered angrily.  
  
"Beg pardon?"  
  
"I said, 'Sorry,'" Ron said, folding his arms and leaning back in a surly manner.  
  
Professor Binns nodded, and continued to read from his notes, verbatim.  
  
"Do what you want," Ron whispered irritably, "I don't care."  
  
Harry knew that wasn't true. But he'd also made his case time and time again – Dumbledore already knew that Neville and Ron were targets.  
  
As for the other part...the part about a trade, and Voldemort...  
  
...and Sirius.  
  
"No way," Harry told himself mentally, "He doesn't need to know about that. It's my business. I can handle it myself."  
  
As a matter of fact, Harry had omitted that part of the dream when he described it to Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny at breakfast. He knew that if he told Dumbledore, or anyone else for that matter, they'd just reassure him that Sirius was dead, that there was nothing he could do to change that, that Voldemort was manipulating his feelings – all the things he already knew. He didn't want to see them looking at him with those soft, sad expressions on their faces.  
  
"Poor, poor Harry, blinded by his own grief. He just doesn't know any better, the poor dear."  
  
It made him want to kick something. He had a feeling Sirius would have been impatient with it, too.  
  
But the nasty little voice in his head was whispering: "Maybe you're actually entertaining the idea that—"  
  
"Enough is enough," Harry whispered aloud, by way of explanation, "At some point, the contents of my own head have to belong to me."  
  
"Then why do you bother telling us?" Ron asked in a hiss.  
  
"Weren't you just telling me I'm supposed to? Besides, you asked," Harry shot back quietly. Neville fidgeted awkwardly, and tried to grin, as though this were just a friendly tiff.  
  
Actually, Hermione had asked.  
  
"You look awful, Harry – did you sleep alright?"  
  
Harry pictured her face in his mind, as she'd looked that morning – she had a way of piercing him with her eyes – it was as though she had already known about the nightmare, somehow. But that was impossible. Of course, Ron had then gone ahead and told her the whole story of how he'd woken up shouting again, and how his scar had been hurting, and she'd nearly gone off her rocker, as he'd known she would. He wagered she was more than half- likely to tell Dumbledore herself.  
  
"Old friends," Harry thought to himself ironically, "We all know each other too well."  
  
Across the room, Seamus eagerly slammed his notebook shut, and shoved it into his bag, which signaled the rest of the class to start packing up. Binns always went over, and Seamus has become unofficial timekeeper of the class, spending the last five minutes staring at his watch.  
  
Hermione caught up with them in the hallway, her bushy hair flouncing behind her.  
  
"Look," she said straight off, "I've thought about it, and it's your decision –"  
  
"Buuuuuuut?" Ron added wryly. Harry grinned to himself. It was nice to have Ron back on his side, at least briefly.  
  
"But," Hermione said with a nasty glare at Ron, "I still think you should go to Dum—"  
  
"We've been down that road," Ron said curtly, "And he's going to do what he wants. So we may as well drop it."  
  
"Look," Harry said crossly, "You talk as if I'm being deliberately stubborn about this –"  
  
"Which you are," Hermione interrupted, "But go on."  
  
"Nevermind," Harry said tartly, "I just won't tell you anymore."  
  
"You never had much of a choice in that matter," Ron said, his ears reddening, "Seeing as you woke up screaming!"  
  
A couple of first years stopped in their tracks, and shot terrified glances at Harry, before scurrying on their way, holding up a text book so they could whisper behind it.  
  
"Lovely," Harry said sardonically, "Thank you, Ronald."  
  
Ron said nothing, but screwed up his face and looked away. Harry knew he'd crossed a line using his full name, and he didn't feel great about it, but Ron would cool off.  
  
"And maybe he and Hermione will learn when to quit," Harry justified to himself.  
  
They walked into Potions and took their usual seats just before Professor Snape stepped out of his office.  
  
"Pass your scrolls forward immediately," he said crossly, "For your sake, I hope these are better than the last ones. I have just now finished grading them."  
  
He waved his wand, and everyone's scrolls found their way through the air to the appropriate desk. Harry glimpsed an E on Hermione's and a D on Ron's. He was both relieved and annoyed to see he'd gotten an A. Relieved because it could have been much worse – and annoyed because he'd basically used Hermione's notes, and she'd gotten an E.  
  
"Your second attempt at the Draught of Remembrance was, for the most part successful," Snape said begrudgingly, "Though some are decidedly [I]weaker[/I] than others," he added, his eyes darting to Ron.  
  
"Unfortunately, your marks on the previous assignment were so abysmal...as I'm sure you're now noticing," he added silkily, again glancing at Ron, "I am forced to derail my lesson plan and take time to teach this material to you yet again."  
  
"Translation: We're going over the homework," Harry whispered to Ron, as Snape turned back to the blackboard, "Don't let him get to you."  
  
"Easy for you to say," Ron muttered.  
  
Harry scanned the room, and realized that Ron had reason to be worried – Snape was good on his word, and had already asked several students to leave, including Lavender and Millicent Bullstrode. But then again, Harry reflected, studying wasn't exactly either of their strong suits.  
  
"Then again," he told himself nervously, "It hasn't been yours recently, either."  
  
Snape spent the better part of class reviewing their homework, and finally they were allowed to complete the Draught of Remembrance.  
  
"Now twelve times counterclockwise, stopping exactly at the point you began," Snape intoned, as though he were thoroughly annoyed that he had to tell them what to do instead of just leaving instructions on the board. Unfortunately, they had to watch their potion to see the exact moment it began to boil, which necessitated hearing his oily voice.  
  
"Bugger," Ron muttered, frowning, "Bugger..."  
  
"You're on eleven," Hermione hissed with annoyance, "One more. And turn your heat up!"  
  
"I know," Ron hissed back, defensively.  
  
"Is there a problem, here?"  
  
"No, sir," Ron muttered, turning up his flame.  
  
"Miss Granger, I have warned you before about muttering the answers to your fellow classmates. Whatever...personal reasons you may have for helping Mr. Weasley, I assure you they have no place in this classroom," Snape added with a smirk, "Five points from Gryffindor."  
  
Harry saw Malfoy smirking their way from the front of the classroom. He didn't seem to have forgotten the events of the past weekend, because he jutted his chin at Harry aggressively.  
  
Harry suddenly felt bad for Draco. Did he really have nothing better to do than wait around for something bad to happen to them, so he could capitalize on it? Then he remembered the incident under the bleachers – the bruises on Hermione's wrists, and her back.  
  
He scowled at Malfoy, and mouthed a rather blue retort.  
  
"Harry! You're boiling!" Hermione whispered anxiously.  
  
Harry quickly jerked his attention back to his cauldron, and added the ground dragon scales, hastily mixing them in with his wand, and lowering the heat with his other hand. To his immense relief, the potion stopped bubbling and lowered to a simmer, turning brilliant red in the process.  
  
Ron was not faring quite as well, however. He had turned his heat off, but he'd done it too late – the potion already had begun to solidify upon reaching the boiling point, and he was hurriedly trying to mix the powdered dragon scales into the mud-like, brick red mix.  
  
"Come on," Ron muttered under his breath again, and Harry could hear the desperation and frustration in his voice, "Bugger this effing thing..."  
  
"Add more jobberknoll feathers!," Hermione whispered hurriedly.  
  
"Ah," Snape said from his place at the front of the classroom, "Do I detect the colorful poetry of Mr. Weasley? Tell us, Miss Granger, how is he doing?"  
  
"I wouldn't know," Hermione lied firmly, "I've been busy with my own."  
  
"Indeed," Snape said, striding over and peering in Ron's cauldron. He took a small measure from his robes pocket, and scooped out some of Ron's maroon potion, which had condensed to the consistency of modeling clay.  
  
"Well," Snape said, "The rest of you can begin straining your potions into a beaker. Mr. Weasley – I don't suppose you'll be able to strain this, will you?"  
  
"No, sir," Ron said quietly.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"No, sir," Ron said a bit too loudly.  
  
"Temper, Weasley," Snape spat, "And what do you suppose I should do about this?"  
  
"Chuck it out and give me a zero," Ron said, not quite managing to disguise his disgust.  
  
"Well, if you insist, Mr. Weasley," Snape said silkily, "And that's ten points for your cheek. Your classmates can thank you later."  
  
Fuming as Snape returned to his desk, Ron extinguished his cauldron, shoved it over, and crossed his arms moodily.  
  
"I give up," he muttered, "Ruddy potions...flipping...Auror..."  
  
Hermione didn't say anything, but put her hand on his knee sympathetically. Ron turned away slightly, and looking hurt, Hermione returned to her potion. Harry felt bad as well, but he knew not to bother Ron about it until later.  
  
"If you've finished straining your potions," Snape said, "Perform the Glacius minimus charm, to—"  
  
Malfoy's beaker gave a loud crack, and the contents began to ooze onto his desk.  
  
"Did I not just say Glacius [I]minimus[/I], Mr. Malfoy?" Snape snapped, "As usual, you have assumed you know better than to have to listen to instructions, and taken your own course of action which subsequently explodes in your face. [I]Reparo![/I]"  
  
Malfoy's beaker reassembled, a few drops of the potion still inside, but there was no repairing Malfoy's reputation – the entire class was somewhat stunned. Malfoy had clearly fallen from favor. Though as Harry scanned the faces, he was shocked to see that even a few of the Slytherins had smug grins on their faces.  
  
"Maybe they really are sick of him causing trouble for Slytherin," he thought pensively.  
  
When it finally came time to test their Draught of Remembrance, the trio debated briefly what fact they'd want to remember.  
  
"I'm going to memorize my mother's birthday," Hermione said, holding up a scrap of paper, "It's convenient, after all. At least I know I'll never get stuck for a gift at the last minute. What are you doing, Ron?"  
  
"Same, I guess," Ron muttered, but he didn't make eye contact.  
  
Harry thought for a moment – There wasn't much point in memorizing his parents' birthdays. He thought he might like to remember something about Sirius – but what? Surely not his death day – that would be awfully morbid.  
  
He thought back on his brief time with Sirius. There had to be something happy, something he'd want to remember forever. But he couldn't think of a single fact – they were more images. Sounds, or smells – the particular way he threw back his head to laugh. When he tried to put them into a factual format they sound flat and lifeless. "Sometimes, Sirius tilted his chair back on two legs?" Everything he thought of was hopelessly inadequate.  
  
"Harry!" whispered Ron, nudging him gently, as Hermione focused on cooling her beaker, "Hermione's is the eighteenth, right?"  
  
"Nineteenth," Harry whispered back, feeling inexplicably annoyed at Ron.  
  
"Thanks," Ron said, with a slight grin, "Mind if I share your beaker?"  
  
"Not at all," Harry said. But he was feeling a slight panic. What was he going to memorize? He couldn't think of anything about Sirius to memorize that he didn't already know by heart. Should he just memorize Hermione's birthday? But he already had it memorized, after all...Besides, he tended to write things like that down...  
  
"With your fact in mind, hold the beaker in front of you, slowly circle your wand clockwise over it, and think the fact exactly as you'd like it to be memorized," Snape said, impatiently, "And take [I]one[/I] swallow of potion. No more is necessary, and is likely to make you ill. And heaven knows we wouldn't want that," he added in a mutter.  
  
Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was already waving her wand over her potion. Ron was looking at Harry with a curious expression on his face.  
  
"You go first, Ron," Harry said, handing him his beaker.  
  
"Oh," Ron said, "Thanks, mate."  
  
Harry wasn't sure why this assignment was making him so anxious. It just seemed so permanent – he didn't want to remember something that would haunt him later. At the same time, some trivial piece of information didn't seem adequate. Maybe he should just use Ron or Hermione's birthday and have done with it. He could always make another potion when he thought of something profound. He started looking at other people nervously, wondering what they were memorizing. His eyes lighted on Draco Malfoy, smirking smugly as he took a sip from his beaker. Harry found his blood was boiling – whatever he was thinking, it was probably something foul.  
  
Suddenly, he remembered Dumbledore's words from the hospital wing yesterday: "It is up to each of us to decide what we wish to bring into this world, and what we wish to remove from it. Remember, Harry...A true wizard is one who governs the power that dwells within him, not one who is governed by that power."  
  
He felt his anger towards Malfoy dissipated. He felt level-headed, clear- minded.  
  
"All set!" Ron said, passing Harry the beaker.  
  
Harry nodded, and smiled, taking the beaker from Ron. 


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

Later, the trio sat in the front row of Defense, chatting quietly with Lupin in the mirror. It was the last ten minutes of class, and they'd just started working on Patronuses that day. Lupin had finished his lecture early, and since there was only a bit of time left (and seeing as most of the students were already practicing their Patronuses in the D.A.), he had decided to get a fresh start on Wednesday, and let the class spend the last few minutes however they wished.  
  
"Good news," he'd told them, before they could even say "hello."  
  
"We could use some of that!" Ron said with a grin.  
  
"Have you seen the Prophet?" Lupin asked.  
  
"No, I haven't," Hermione frowned, "I skip lunch on Mondays, so I haven't had time to read it. Why, what happened?"  
  
"They found Kingsley...Fred and George," he explained with a relieved smile, "He came back into the shop to ask for another Snackbox. Of course, by this time we were wise to the Death Eaters' plans, and Fred and George managed to stun him before he got suspicious. A few quick spells later, and he was back to himself and telling us everything."  
  
"What happened? Was it the Imperius then?" Hermione pressed anxiously.  
  
"See for yourself," Lupin said, smiling, "I believe Professor McGonagall left a copy on my desk this morning."  
  
Hermione spotted the paper underneath their stack of homework, and extricated it carefully, Ron and Harry hovering over her shoulders, craning their necks so they could all read at the same time:  
  
AUROR KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT UNDER IMPERIUS: LUCIUS MALFOY IMPLICATED  
  
In both a small victory in the fight against He Who Must Not Be Named, and a sobering call to caution, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt was released from the Imperius Curse just yesterday by intrepid entrepreneurs Fred and George Weasley at their establishment, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, in Diagon Alley.  
  
While the Ministry's reports remain guarded, it is clear that Kingsley was indeed under the Imperius curse for a period of several weeks, and was ordered to visit the Weasley twins' shop, at which time, they realized he was under the curse, stunned him, and promptly called the authorities. Upon being freed from the curse, Shacklebolt immediately implicated Lucius Malfoy as its originator. This latest charge is added to Malfoy's growing list of offenses, including but not limited to breaking and entering, assault, and attempted murder. But is Malfoy truly a Death Eater, or is he in fact just as much a victim as Kingsley Shacklebolt himself?  
  
Narcissa Malfoy (nee Black), Malfoy's wife, continues to defend his innocence, for one.  
  
"I'd like to point out," she told the Prophet via Floo Powder, "That one under the Imperius Curse can be commanded to cast the Imperius Curse on others. Indeed, this chain tactic was used during the first rise to power of the Dark Lord, in order to make the crimes harder to trace to himself."  
  
She also took great pains to point out his previously respectable place in the community – having dedicated much time and galleons to St. Mungo's, and other Ministry Causes, becoming a personal friend of Minister Cornelius Fudge in the process. Lucius Malfoy also served on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for six years, until the Board asked for his resignation three years ago, suspecting his involvement in Dark activities.  
  
"Well, I'm deeply disturbed, of course," Cornelius Fudge told us, distractedly, "Lucius has been a friend of the family for quite some time. Had been, of course. But as I've said before, I can't imagine that he is acting under his own free will – I've always known Lucius to have a generous nature, and to be deeply involved in the wizarding community."  
  
Head of Magical Law Enforcement and key member of the Wizengamot Amelia Bones had a different view of Malfoy's involvement: "I strongly doubt that such a powerful wizard as Lucius Malfoy could be acting under the Imperius Curse for such an extended period of time. This [I]involvement[/I] in the community that Minister Fudge speaks of now includes two out of three of the Unforgiveable Curses, and I for one, intend to ask for the Dementor's Kiss, if Lucius Malfoy is ever called before the Wizengamot. Unfortunately," she added, in exasperation, "The Dementors have currently deserted Azkaban Prison, and are unable to be found, save for the moments they elect to attack innocent students at Hogwarts."  
  
When pressed, Ms. Bones stated that, "Yes, if Lucius Malfoy or any other Death Eater was found guilty of charges before the Wizengamot, I would support the death penalty for that witch or wizard. In light of the Dementor's absence, Azkaban has developed a swinging door, and I for one intend to see that justice is done and these heinous war crimes are deterred."  
  
When asked about Cornelius Fudge's relationship to Lucius Malfoy, Bones declined to comment, but did state: "I consider Cornelius Fudge a respected colleague, but he is ignoring the main issues here: Azkaban is defunct, the Dementors are out of Ministry control, and He Who Must Not Be Named is attacking the Ministry via subterfuge. The Ministry must go on the offensive if it is to survive this second coming of the Dark Lord."  
  
"Well, of course I'm concerned," Minister Fudge retorted angrily, upon hearing Ms. Bone's statement from the Prophet, "Yes, very concerned. But I'm [I]primarily[/I] concerned that one of our own Aurors could be so clumsy. I believe as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, it is not for Miss Bones to point fingers here. I also want to point out that while the Ministry is taking He Who Must Not Be Named very seriously, to refer to 'war crimes' or 'a second coming,' is both premature and inflammatory. The Ministry is not at war."  
  
When the Prophet pointed out that the Unforgiveable Curse had taken place undetected within the Ministry itself, and raised the issue of security and damage control, Minister Fudge declined further comment.  
  
On page four: Description of Security Measures currently in place in the Ministry: How did Malfoy manage it?  
  
On page twelve: Tips on how to recognize, and ward off the Imperius Curse  
  
On page fifteen: The Boy Who Lived names current Death Eaters  
  
"That's old news," Hermione said, pointing at the page fifteen story, "They're still milking that press release you gave last year."  
  
"So if Kingsley was cursed at work, then Malfoy's been sneaking into the Ministry?" Harry asked, scowling.  
  
"Yes," Lupin said, his face clouding, "Or, was being [I]snuck[/I] in," Lupin said with a scowl, "But nobody's saying [I]that.[/I] Even the Prophet stopped short of suggesting it."  
  
"It was Fudge, wasn't it?" Harry asked.  
  
"He's lucky he doesn't end up in Azkaban," Lupin scowled fiercely, "Aiding and abetting. Of course, there's no proof that Malfoy was ever there, besides the one incident where he attacked Kingsley."  
  
"How could he ever manage it?" Ron asked, befuddled, "Aren't they watching the Floos? You can't just march into the Ministry—"  
  
"Lupin just said, Ron, he was probably there to see Fudge," Hermione said, frowning, "I imagine the [I]Minister of Magic[/I] would find some way to get him in undetected if he wanted to."  
  
"If that's really true," Harry said, with a sense of alarm, "Fudge could be under the Imperius himself – the entire Ministry could fall to Voldemort's control at any time."  
  
"I'm afraid that's a possibility, Harry," Lupin sighed, "Though it's doubtful Malfoy would use the Imperius on Fudge – no, magic is traceable, and detectable – good old fashioned manipulation is much neater."  
  
"But there's no telling how many others he's put under the Imperius," Hermione said nervously.  
  
"That is very true," Lupin said, nodding, "But Moody's back on the job, and so are Tonks and Kingsley, now. They keep an eye out for each other." Lupin laughed, "Moody more than others, of course. And thank God for Amelia...I hope she runs for Minister some day."  
  
"Hmph," Hermione said bitterly, "They'll never elect her. The Ministry is still eighty percent men. It's a small victory she's even on the Wizengamot."  
  
"Nobody's making the argument that the Ministry is ahead of the times, Hermione," Lupin admitted, "Or that they have everything well in hand, for that matter. But I wouldn't write them off entirely yet. There's still plenty of good, sharp people there trying to hold it all together."  
  
But Harry didn't feel too comforted – after all, Malfoy had gotten to Kingsley once – if they couldn't stop him then, who's to say they could stop him a second time?  
  
"Fred and George got another nice mention," Ron said, smiling ruefully, "They're going to be impossible."  
  
"That's time, Professor," Hermione said politely.  
  
"Ah, so it is," Lupin said with a smile, "Class dismissed, everyone! Remember, one foot! No less! And no generous spacing, or enormous lettering – I'm on to you, Seamus."  
  
"I'm off to Occlumency," Harry muttered miserably.  
  
"Have fun," Ron quipped.  
  
"We'll see you at dinner, Harry," Hermione said, sympathetically patting him on the arm, "Do try your best."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, grinning sheepishly in spite of himself.  
  
"Mind if I borrow this?" he asked Lupin, holding the folded paper aloft, "I want to read the rest."  
  
"Take it," Lupin said, smiling from his place in the mirror, "I'm sure Minerva's finished with it." 


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

A/N: Just a quick note to let you know the illustrations are up – Neville and the Dementors, and Hogsmeade. Really proud of em. :big grin: , Email: , pword: greatdivide. Just click on the album, or click on the Bumper's album and add your pic! (Did you know Wiccan Pussykat is an Animagus? I didn't!) Enjoy:  
  
He was surprised to find his steps becoming quicker and quicker – he realized with grim shock that he was actually looking forward to seeing Snape today, in some twisted way. Not that he would enjoy his company, or the lesson for that matter – but Harry was feeling reckless, especially in light of Nott's incursion into Hogwarts.  
  
In all honesty, he'd been toying with an idea ever since Sirius had died. He'd felt furious, irrationally angry at Snape that night in Dumbledore's office, but couldn't put his finger on why. He'd felt the same frustrated anger as the Weasley's house had burned down, even though he knew Snape couldn't literally be responsible for it. Hadn't he felt the same instinctive distrust and anger in the Shrieking Shack, even though Snape had only done what any sensible Hogwarts teacher might have done.  
  
"Granted, he rather enjoyed it," Harry thought, his eyes narrowing.  
  
And when Hermione had been assaulted by Draco Malfoy, Snape had threatened to have him punished in a rather nasty way.  
  
"Well, he's still here," Harry thought, his anger bubbling up, "And he's still obnoxious – so it can't have been too bad. Why does he insist on favoring that..."  
  
But he stopped himself. Despite all the frustration he felt, he couldn't purely hate Snape, or Malfoy in the way he had in years previous. The influence of Dumbledore, the Sorting Hat, Hermione, and his own encounters with the two of them had made that impossible, to his own great annoyance. And try as he might, over the years, Harry could never directly link Snape to any of the horrible things that had happened to him...  
  
But it wasn't what Snape had done that bothered him – it was what he hadn't done. Could he really believe that Snape was doing everything in his power to keep them safe? If he was this great secret double-agent, why was it he could never prevent these things from happening? Where was his useful information about how to find Lord Voldemort?  
  
And why on earth did Dumbledore trust him in the first place? Who were his creepy friends?  
  
Now, Neville had been tortured, he'd nearly been assassinated. With each subsequent brush with Voldemort, he felt as though his feelings towards Snape had been drawing to a boiling point. In fact, he was sure that Snape was hiding something, and if Dumbledore and everyone else expected him to continue trusting Snape, it was high time he got some answers straight from the horse's mouth.  
  
Fired up on his own convictions, Harry entered the Potions classroom, tucking the folded Prophet under his arm.  
  
"Stop your incessant snivelling," Snape's voice rang, cold and hard from behind his office door.  
  
His ears perking up, Harry hesitated, and hung back by the door – if Snape came out, he could always look as though he were just walking into the room. It wouldn't fool him for long, but at least he wouldn't be able to tell how much he'd heard.  
  
"Snivelling?" Harry whispered to himself. Not a word he would have expected Snape to use – not after the nickname his father had given him.  
  
"But Professor," came Malfoy's whining simper, "It was all Potter's fault. You know how Dumbledore favors –"  
  
"I am sick of that tired old refrain, Mr. Malfoy, physically ill," came Snape's venomous hiss, "The level to which you will debase yourself is nauseating, and I am just as sick of it as your father is. Or would you like me to remind you? It is a remarkable feat of science that you have so many things stored in that atrophied brain...Things that you prefer not to see. And you know only too well that I am perfectly capable of showing them to you."  
  
There was a brief silence. Harry found he was holding his breath. At least he knew how Snape and Malfoy spent their detentions.  
  
He shuddered involuntarily – it was almost like Snape was some sort of pseudo-Dementor – laying bare Malfoy's every horrible memory, witnessing all of his worst fears and shortcomings...Harry actually felt a surge of sympathy for Malfoy, before fiercely pushing it away.  
  
"I have given you every opportunity to excel, Mr. Malfoy, yet you consistently squander your considerable talents on a piffling feud, and whine incessantly that your own shortcomings are the fault of others. Furthermore, you continue to pursue rash and ill-advised courses of action which both embarrass me as Head of Slytherin house, and put me in a very difficult position. If you've come to me looking for sympathy, you're in the wrong shop, I'm afraid. Why don't you just pander to Potter and Dumbledore like everyone else, and collect your share of empty sympathy, if that's what's important to you?"  
  
"Never," Draco muttered angrily, and then continued his whine, "That's what I'm trying to tell you. They—"  
  
"I will not be excusing you from the punishment that was assigned to you, Draco. Not because you deserve it, but because I am determined to get through to you."  
  
"You talk as if you're one of them!" Draco snapped angrily, "One of Dumbledore's [I]pets![/I] Don't act as if I don't know what you are! My father tells me everything! And I know what's on your arm! I know you want to get rid of Potter and Dumbledore as much as—"  
  
"[I]Keep your voice down,[/I] you ignorant sot, and don't you [I]dare[/I] speak of things you can not possibly understand," Snape hissed venomously.  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
"I repeat – if you've come here to ask me to go easy on you, you know where to go for mollycoddling. I only regret that I wasn't harder on you sooner. You are a [I]Slytherin,[/I]" Snape's venomous voice snapped from behind the closed door, "And a Malfoy. Now start [I]acting[/I] like one. I will expect you in one hour."  
  
Harry felt his insides turn cold – he shouldn't have heard that. While hearing Draco Malfoy get chewed out by a professor would normally rank among his favorite things, to hear Snape speaking to Malfoy this way felt completely wrong. He felt as though he'd yet again invaded Snape's privacy (which, he reflected, he had) and briefly considered sneaking out of the room, and owling Snape that he was ill, when the door burst open, and Draco stormed out, fuming.  
  
He looked up at Harry, stunned, and Harry didn't even have time to act as if he hadn't been listening.  
  
"How much did you hear?" Malfoy shouted angrily.  
  
"Of what?" Harry lied swiftly, "I just got here. Besides, it's about time you got in trouble for something."  
  
"[I]Potter![/I]" Snape snapped viciously, "[I]My office![/I] That will be [I]all[/I] Draco."  
  
Feeling a slight stab of panic despite his best intentions, Harry ignored Draco's angry sneer, and willed himself to march into the lion's den. 


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

"Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, leaving the statement open, so that Harry could squirm. It seemed that he would start breathing fire through his nostrils at any moment. Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.  
  
"It seems that you [I]still[/I] have not learned that eavesdropping is unacceptable at this school. It appears that you [I]still[/I] have no compunctions about violating the privacy of others. Tell me," Snape sneered, his eyes narrowing, "Why should I have any respect for yours? [I]Leglimens![/I]"  
  
Harry felt him probing, prying into his mind, the deepest parts of himself. He saw a few fleeting glimpses of Aunt Petunia and Dudley...he felt him searching for something embarrassing, painful. Ammunition.  
  
"There's nothing left to find," Harry thought calmly, "Besides, he's seen so much – who cares what he thinks of me anymore?"  
  
With a determined push, he closed his mind like a book, felt himself pushing Snape slowly but deliberately out.   
  
"You've improved," Snape muttered. It wasn't a compliment.  
  
"I had a good teacher," Harry admitted neutrally, his face stony.  
  
Snape smirked sardonically. "Flattery will get you nowhere."  
  
Harry decided to lay his cards on the table.  
  
"I've got a bone to pick with you," he stated frankly.  
  
Snape's eyebrows shot upwards, and his forehead crinkled in surprise. For a moment he didn't say or do anything. Harry knew he'd crossed a line he couldn't return from.  
  
"Excuse me?" he asked, deadly calm.  
  
"You heard me," Harry risked rudely, "I have some questions, and for once, I want some answers. Isn't that your job?"  
  
Snape's normally sallow, yellowed complexion began blotching pink. He grit his teeth, and seemed to be shaking slightly.  
  
"How [I]dare[/I] you! Five points from—"  
  
"Go ahead!" Harry said, firmly, "Take as many points as you want. Go ahead and give me detention. You're bound to do it sometime anyway, no matter what I do. If I can't win, I might as well lose, and say what I want to say."  
  
Harry was briefly gratified to see Snape's eyes widen in amazement. Some small part of himself that remained on the sidelines, looking on, congratulated him – he wasn't the same intimidated first year with Snape any more. He was speaking like Sirius might.   
  
"I could have you expelled!" Snape snarled, his teeth gleaming as he snarled.  
  
"Go ahead and try it," Harry said, and he felt a nervous thrill at his own audacity, "With Voldemort and his Death Eaters –"  
  
"[I]Do NOT say the Dark Lord's—[/I]"  
  
"[I]VOLDEMORT![/I]" Harry bellowed, stepping forward and planting his hands on Snape's desk.  
  
"As usual, you mistake your profound lack of respect for bravery, when it is, in fact, nothing more than arrogance and foolhardy ignorance!" Snape said, his voice gradually increasing in volume. His hands were shaking as he clutched the back of the chair, leaning over it as though he would quite like to vault over his desk and strangle Harry.   
  
"Well, you tell me who's being stupid," Harry retorted hotly, "Do you really think Dumbledore's going to expell me? The 'famous' Harry Potter?"  
  
"Ah yes, the 'famous' Potter," Snape sneered, aiming for Harry's jugular, "The same arrogant swagger, the same big-headed—"  
  
"You know for a fact that I [I]hate[/I] all of that, because you've [I]seen[/I] it!" Harry said, pointing a finger angrily at his scar, "You've seen how much I hate it! How much I wish I could just be a nobody! And it's no use having a go at my Dad – I'm sorry he treated you badly, but it's nothing to do with me. Besides, everybody makes mistakes! You have a tattoo to remind you of that!"  
  
Harry flinched, suddenly sensing that someone had slapped him across the face, though Snape's hands hadn't left the chair. He realized Snape must have done it inadvertently, with his mind. His eyes were wild now, and his hands were positively twitching with fury. Harry knew he couldn't back down now, though, no matter what the consequences – he'd come too far to turn back.   
  
"The fact is, I've called your bluff! Dumbledore isn't about to expell The Boy Who Lived, not when he's named in that wretched prophecy, not when Voldemort and his Death Eaters are on the loose, not when everything's riding on him. Like it or not, Professor Snape, you're stuck with me for another year and a half. You can send me back to my common room if you like, or ignore me, but I'll just tell Dumbledore you've refused to teach me. I'm sure that'll go over well. And I'm not going to stop asking until I get some answers!"  
  
Snape took a shaky breath in through his nostrils.  
  
"You seem to forget," Snape said, though gritted teeth, "I am even more a permanent fixture here than you are."  
  
"Really?" Harry asked, "Does Fudge know that you used to be a Death Eater?"  
  
Snape flinched, "Yes."  
  
"He'd probably be relieved to see you sacked – Lucky for you, Dumbledore's always ignored his advice when it comes to hiring. As a matter of fact, I bet that's why you've never gotten the Defense post."  
  
Snape was positively foaming at the mouth at this. Harry knew he'd touched a nerve.   
  
"Fudge is probably afraid you'll go back to your [I]previous[/I] occupation as soon as the tide turns. And Dumbledore's afraid he's right."  
  
"Do you honestly think I am cut from the same cloth as Peter Pettigrew?" Snape asked, in deadly quiet.  
  
"No," Harry admitted, after a pause. He was shocked to find a glimmer of respect for Professor Snape, buried deeply under the anger. "No, I don't."  
  
There was a brief pause, as the two stared each other down.  
  
"But I bet it's Dumbledore's word, and some good behavior that's kept you out of Azkaban all these years. Think you could stand it? For all you used to mock Sirius," Harry said, his voice cracking inadvertently, "I don't think you could last thirteen years – your conscience isn't as clear as his!"  
  
Snape returned Harry's stare unblinkingly. Harry could feel the anger emanating from him in waves. He occasionally felt a slight probing, as though Snape were trying to assess how sincere he was. He knew he was surprised at what he found.   
  
"I don't owe you anything," Snape spat slowly, "I want that made perfectly clear."  
  
"Don't you?" Harry asked, sensing an opportunity, "My father saved your life."  
  
"It was your father and his [I]idiot[/I] friends that put my life in danger!" Snape hissed furiously, "You have seen for yourself the extent of his irresponsibility and his vindictive grudge! And I might add that I have saved your life on [I]numerous[/I] occasions!" Snape hissed.  
  
"Fine then, we're even," Harry conceded, the trap sprung. "I don't owe you, and you don't owe me anything. My father is dead. I've let him go. Can you?"  
  
"It seems," he said, slowly straightening up to full height, "That we are at an impasse. You see, I would like nothing more than to throw you out on your noble intentions, and leave you to the Dark Lord's mercy. But to my deepest regret," he added with a silky sneer, "The happy power to expell you does not lie with me Dumbledore would never have it. Plus, to do so would most likely seal the doom of wizard kind. I can take points away from you, and give you detention, yes, but it seems you are not to be deterred..."  
  
Harry held his breath. Had he won? He recalled how disgusted Snape had been with Malfoy's whining and cringing. As much as he knew that Snape hated him, as much as he would prefer to always hate him, perhaps Snape had to finally admit to himself that there was more to Harry than just a swelled head.   
  
"In the interest of shutting your rude, arrogant mouth," Snape said, "and partially out of some misguided, morbid curiosity – What is it you want to ask?"  
  
Harry felt a brief thrill of triumph, and he couldn't help but grin. He'd done it!  
  
"Watch yourself, Potter," Snape cautioned, all traces of indulgence vanishing instantly, "Ask what you have to ask, because I won't brook your insolence much longer."  
  
Harry took a slow breath, and tried to think of what he wanted to ask first – now that he had permission to ask questions, it seemed that all his thoughts about Snape had become one large enigma – he hardly knew where to begin.   
  
"You're Malfoy's head of house. How could you not know what he was up to?"  
  
"Put frankly, he didn't tell me. Is that all?"  
  
"Isn't it your job to be a double agent?" Harry asked, frowningly, "I've seen the extent of your Leglimency. You're telling me you had no idea?"  
  
"Malfoy is difficult to read," Snape said frankly, "In the same way that Sneakoscopes do not work well in the castle."  
  
Harry remembered what the imposter Moody had told him, when all the Sneakoscopes had been going off in his office...The castle was so full of dishonesty, students lying about their homework, or trying to skive off classes, that they were going off constantly.  
  
"So Malfoy is so dishonest, that –"  
  
"Exactly," Snape said bluntly, "It is difficult to trace his lies. Besides, as troublesome as you have found him in past years, his rule-breaking has never brought serious harm in the way it has this year – I had no reason to suspect that he would become so dangerous so quickly. And as you may be aware, I've had my hands full with considerably larger fish, Mr. Potter...Mr. Malfoy's petty, schoolyard grudge is not my concern."  
  
"He nearly got us killed," Harry said bluntly, "I think that's concerning."   
  
"Did you not just see for yourself that Mr. Malfoy is now attending daily detentions with me?" Snape hissed, "Do you think the Leglimency is merely for punishment?"   
  
Harry was quiet for a moment. Malfoy wouldn't be able to risk any more life-threatening maneuvres for a while.   
  
"That still doesn't explain..." Harry started, but he trailed off uncomfortably.  
  
Snape stared at him coldly for a moment, then sat at his desk. "If you are finished asking your questions, let me know, so we can return to the work at hand, Mr. Potter."  
  
"Why have you always favored him?" Harry blurted out, "He should have been expelled a hundred times over –"  
  
"So should you, if I remember correctly," Snape hissed, "And so should your father. For you, of all people, to complain about favoritism at Hogwarts, implies a lack of self-awareness that borders on the imbecilic."   
  
"If you're talking about Dumbledore, I never asked to—"  
  
"Dumbledore is the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the professors take their cue from him. You are quite possibly second only to Granger in your ability to ingratiate yourself to the staff here," Snape said, a derisive smirk playing about his narrow lips, as he hunched forward over his desk, "I have only tried to give Malfoy a small taste of the favor you receive."  
  
"Why? Why Malfoy?" Harry probed, further, "Even you don't like him, it's obvious – it's clear what he is, what he's choosing to be. You must hate him almost as much as you hate his father...as much as you hate them all."   
  
"As much as you hate your past," Harry thought. He both saw and felt that he was right, in the way Snape quickly diverted his eyes to the desk, trying to cease their connection.   
  
"I don't understand how you can spend all day spying on his father, and then come here and treat his son like the Prince of Slytherin. He's only going to fling it in your face."  
  
"In many ways, Malfoy is the Prince of Slytherin," Snape said quietly, "Or was. And I am head of Slytherin House, Mr. Potter. As a professor at Hogwarts, it is not my responsibility to judge the moral character of our students. When I see talent, I encourage it."  
  
"I wouldn't exactly call our Potions lessons encouraging," Harry said, more bemused than sarcastic. Snape raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I suppose you would prefer that I patronize you the way your werewolf friend does? Yes, I imagine that you prefer not to be challenged, Mr. Potter. You'd rather I never push you to reach your potential, never hold you accountable for your own laziness, and misguided focus –"  
  
"You can't tell me there's nothing personal about it," Harry muttered.  
  
"The last time I checked," Snape said, frostily, his eyes getting cold and hard at Harry's familiarity, "I am your Potions Master, not your friend. And I am not about to hold your little hands and make daisy chains, not now, not ever. You're here to learn, and more importantly, learn how to work. If it were easy, it would not be worth doing."  
  
Harry realized they were getting off the subject.  
  
"But Malfoy," he insisted, "You say you're encouraging him, but what are you encouraging him to—"  
  
"Mr. Potter, there is no doubt that Mr. Malfoy has talent, and I remain his teacher – ergo, yes, of course I am trying to encourage him," Snape said, his exasperation evident, "You put me in a difficult position, Mr. Potter, just as the Headmaster does – you expect me to maintain my cover as a Death Eater, yet simultaneously turn Mr. Malfoy against his father, and steer him away from the Dark Arts?"  
  
Harry paused, dumbfounded. He'd never really tried to see it from Snape's point of view before, and he was hard-pressed to find a solution to the problem.  
  
"Ah," Snape said, smirking, "I see that particular thought has never crossed your mind. You see now that as Head of Slytherin House, I have tried to walk that precise fine line, and maintain my balance, for years, not only with Mr. Malfoy but with all my students. Not that you've noticed. No, all you've noticed is how [I]unfair[/I] it is, how difficult it all is for [I]you[/I]. As usual, you paint in broad strokes, using two colors: Good and Evil. And the questions you have remain unanswered not because I harbor some dark secret, but merely because you do not think for yourself."  
  
There was a slight pause.  
  
"What do you think will happen? I mean, with Malfoy?" Harry ventured, hesitantly.  
  
Immediately Snape averted his eyes. But in the flash of eye contact, Harry understood. He felt, more than saw, Snape as a young man at Hogwarts, laden with tradition, his birthright, and his own mounting disgust with them both – his hatred for his arrogant, shallow, selfish classmates. And through it all, like a troubled undercurrent, the love/hate yearning for the unbridled power of the Dark Arts, clinging like an alcoholic to his bottle...  
  
"I have to believe he can be reached," Harry heard in his head. Suddenly he winced, as he was forcefully shoved out of Snape's mind.  
  
"That's rude," Snape said shortly.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized immediately, "I didn't realize I was doing it."  
  
They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Some invisible dam had burst, and neither seemed sure whether they preferred this new complexity to the simplicity of their prior hatred.   
  
"If you're quite through, I think we ought to practice at least once before you return to your daily angst."   
  
Harry nodded numbly. There were a hundred other questions he wanted to ask. But he sensed that the window of opportunity had closed, at least for now – he still felt as though he were treading uncharted water, unsure of where to swim to next.   
  
"One, two, three," Snape counted robotically, preparing his wand, "[I]Leglimens![/I]"  
  
"[I]Protego![/I]" Harry shouted, wielding his wand.   
  
Suddenly, without intending to, Harry was inside Snape's mind again. It was the easiest it had ever been – something about their conversation had temporarily disarmed Snape's defenses.  
  
He was standing in Snape's elegant yet dour diningroom, watching him take the beating of a lifetime from the tall, dark, angry man. Snape's mother cowered in the corner. Harry could see every splotch of color on her cheek, so vivid was the memory before him – blue and purple, tinges of greenish-yellow.   
  
The tall dark man raised his hand to rain yet another blow on the lanky, teenage boy with greasy hair. Blood was trickling out of his hooked nose, and he already had a fat lip, and a puffy eye, but Harry could feel him burning with anger...he felt something rising in his midriff...something angry, and urgent...  
  
...something hungry.   
  
Suddenly, Snape burst into a snarl - his lip curled back. His eyes seemed to widen unnaturally. His canines glinted whitely in the dim light of the room.  
  
"Leave her alone," Snape hissed...only this time he seemed to really hiss, through his teeth.   
  
"You think you can make me?" bellowed the dark, angry man, pushing Snape's shoulder, "Go ahead, you little freak, you ingrate! Make me. I want you to. You haven't got it in you. I dare you, you bastard brat, see what happens to you!"  
  
Snape suddenly jerked his head back, and Harry watched in horror as his canine teeth instantly elongated into pearlescent spikes. In one impossibly swift motion, he pounced, burying his teeth into the man's gritty, unshaven neck. His mother screamed an awful, agonized scream, reaching her arms out to him, as the man's eyes went wide, his mouth working open and shut like a landed fish. Snape released him, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Snape spat out some of the man's blood, looming over him, his teeth glinting redly. He knelt down in one smooth motion.   
  
"You taste absolutely [I]foul[/I]," he said slowly, and distinctly, "I thought you should know that, before you die...that the [I]pure[/I] blood that you're so proud of tastes like sweat, and whiskey, and cheap cologne. It digusts me. You disgust me."   
  
The man's legs began to jerk slightly, his wound slowly oozing red blood onto the white carpet in steady spurts.   
  
"Now die."   
  
Harry felt a sudden jolt, and found he was sitting flat on his rump on Snape's office floor. Snape was gripping his wand, white-knuckled, a look of absolute panic on his face.   
  
"[I]Oblivia—[/I]"  
  
"[I]Silencio![/I]" Harry shouted, holding up his wand. Snape was suddenly struck mute, to his panicked fury.  
  
"Wait a minute!" Harry shouted stupidly, holding up a hand. His mind was reeling, "Just – wait!"  
  
Snape did a tricky wave of his wand, and cleared his throat.  
  
"Your nosing about has finally gone too far, Potter," Snape said, his eyes dangerous and wild, "Enjoy your satisfaction while it lasts, because I swear you won't remember it!"  
  
"Don't!" Harry said, "You don't have to do this! I won't tell a soul!"  
  
"Well thank you for the reassurance, Potter, but based on your prior 'respect' for my mental property, I don't think I'll take the chance," Snape hissed, advancing on Harry, his wand drawn.   
  
"I never told a soul," Harry said, staring Snape straight in the eyes, "About my Dad. About 'Snivellus,' or any of it. I never told anyone about your father—"  
  
"That was [I]NOT[/I] my father!" Snape hissed dangerously, jerking his wand hand towards Harry.  
  
"Fine! I don't want to know!" Harry said, honestly, "I'm not going to tell anyone, and you know that I'm telling the truth. Just look!"   
  
Snape stared deeply into Harry's eyes, his wand still drawn.   
  
There was a knock at the door. 


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

Draco Malfoy poked his head around the door. Snape hurriedly hid his wand behind his voluminous robes, but not fast enough. A sly smile played across Draco's lips, as he pushed the door open.

"Evening, Potter. Hope you haven't been going easy on him, Professor."

Harry was still too wound up to even tell Malfoy to shut up, when Snape saved him the trouble:

"Get in here," he barked, "Potter..."

He paused for a moment, as though carefully choosing his words.

"Your Potions scores remain abysmal. I expect better next time we meet," he said quietly.

He leaned across his desk, and his eyes seemed to bore holes straight through Harry's head:

"And don't you [I]dare[/I] go to Miss Granger for the answers, Mr. Potter. Because if you talk to anyone...[I]I'll know.[/I]"

"I know," Harry said, nodding, "I won't."

He grabbed the strap of his book bag, and beat a hasty retreat, closing the door firmly behind him.

He entered the common room to find Hermione and Ron seated comfortably on opposite ends of the rich, maroon couch, various Potions books and assorted half-empty bags of candy spread between them.

"Errr...dragon...scale?"

"Which kind?" Hermione asked, her irresistible smile creeping in at the corners.

"Norwegian...no...Chinese Fireball?"

Hermione grinned, and began fishing around in her bag of Bertie Botts.

"Yes!" Ron said, making a celebratory fist.

"Grass alright?"

"Mmm," Ron said, "Reminds me of Quidditch."

"Ah!" she announced officiously, and chucked a small green one at Ron's open mouth. It bounced off of his chin onto his homework.

"Nice aim," he teased, popping it into his mouth.

"Nice save! Aren't you a Keeper?" she teased.

"Err..." Harry said, scratching an itch on his neck.

"Harry!" Hermione said, blushing slightly as she noticed he'd arrived, "We were just going over some Potions. How'd it go with Snape?"

Harry hesistated. Snape's secret seemed to be dancing on the tip of his tongue...he thought he'd burst if he couldn't at least tell Hermione...

"If you go to Miss Granger for the answers..."

"Nothing," Harry lied, "I – saw a rat."

"The school's full of rats."

"I...er...thought it might be Pettigrew," Harry lied swiftly.

"You what?!"

Ron and Hermione were on their feet, books scattered, Bertie Botts all over the floor.

"It's okay!" Harry lied, holding up a hand, "I err...caught him. He had all of his fingers. Err, toes. Just a rat."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked slowly. Harry broke eye contact quickly. She knew something was up.

"And I did the Apparecium. S'fine. Gotta go to bed, I'm knackered," Harry lied, already half-way up the stairs.

"Oi! Don't you want dinner?" Ron called up after him.

"Not feeling well!" Harry said, closing the door behind him.

Harry spent the next day of classes in an absolute daze. He found himself looking over his shoulder for Professor Snape in the hallway, terrified by the thought that he'd catch him unawares and Obliviate his memory.

Harry had never expended much thought on the memory charm, other than to wish it might be performed on him – there were plenty of things he'd prefer to forget. Or at least he thought he did. Now that it had nearly been performed on him, he began to realize just how precious his memories were, even the unpleasant ones – they were what made him Harry.

"Hello?" Ron asked irritably, "Are you staying, or what?"

"Hmm? Sorry, staying?" Harry asked, realizing that he still hadn't touched any of his lunch.

Ron sighed exasperatedly, and Hermione gave him another worried, suspicious look.

"For Christmas break, Harry," she asked, "Are you staying here or going to Grimmauld place?"

"Oh," Harry said, his eyebrows raising in surprise. He hadn't even thought about it – he knew he wasn't going to the Dursleys, that much was for sure. And while the property did belong to him in name, he didn't know if Lupin or Dumbledore would think that was such a good idea. The idea of his no longer being welcome at Grimmauld place, made his empty stomach sink, as though he'd just swallowed a lead weight.

"I dunno if I'm allowed," he said doubtfully, "Now that Sirius...Well."

"Lupin would let you if you asked – that's where we're going," Ron prompted gently, "You know Mum would love to have you. You haven't really been yourself, you know. It'd be good for you to get away from Hogwarts for a while."

Harry blinked owlishly – Ron really wasn't as dumb as he liked to let on...maybe it was having so many brothers, or a little sister to take care of, but every once in a while he'd surprise Harry by being much more mature than he normally acted.

"Ron, that's the most sensitive, intelligent thing you've ever said," Hermione said, sounding more shocked than complimentary.

"I'm not totally useless, you know," Ron replied huffily, scooping up a massive spoonful of mashed potatoes.

Harry returned to his introspection, and remained lost in his own thoughts (or rather, Snape's thoughts) for the next several days. What was worse, his inability to clear his mind led to some really nasty nightmares – angry Sirius, angry James and Lily, Ron dying, Hermione dying, Ginny or Neville dying...Some nights he woke with his scar searing, still believing he was in the Department of Mysteries, until the red bed hangings reassured him. Other nights, he woke with only a sinking feeling in his stomach, convinced that he was standing in the Transfiguration corridor, Ron lying dead at his feet.

Not even Quidditch could cheer him up. Ravenclaw had a very narrow victory over Slytherin, with a difference of only ten points – seeing as Ravenclaw had also beat Hufflepuff, that left Gryffindor with a slim shot at the Quidditch Cup, so long as they beat both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuff, by some miracle, managed to beat Slytherin. A fact which the entire Gryffindor team courteously pointed out to Harry by whooping, hollering, shooting sparks out of their wands, and in general, inciting a riot in the Gryffindor stands. He tried with all his might to muster a genuine smile, but he couldn't help feeling it was an empty victory – after all, they were just lucky that Ravenclaw was strong this year. They still had two tough matches to go.

He led the last D.A. meeting of the semester as though sleepwalking, simply pacing about the room, saying, "Nice work," or "No, like this." Fortunately, they were working on the Patronus charm. Even if they couldn't quite jar him out of his contemplative funk, he at least found the strange, luminescent menagerie slightly comforting. The older members had pretty much mastered corporeal Patroni – Hermione's otter tussled playfully with Ron's lion (a breakthrough), while Cho's swan glided gracefully about the room. Neville had managed some massive shape that he identified, blushing, as an elephant, and Ginny had some kind of mid-size cat...a lynx, or a bobcat, or something, but nobody could quite tell. Padma had mastered a large raven, while Parvati was still working on hers. Zacharias Smith managed a peacock, to no one's surprise, and Justin Finch-Fletchy was utterly dismayed to find that his was a pig.

"It's more of a boar, really," Luna said, in an attempt to be comforting, as her march hare gamboled about her feet, "It's kind of sweet."

"Don't help, Luna," Justin said mopily, "It's a pig, and that's all there is too it."

"Well, I've heard they're really smart!" Hermione said, trying not to smile, "And surprisingly clean."

All the rest were still only producing light, but Seamus claimed his was a monkey, but he couldn't do it in front of people.

Harry glided through midterms like a ghost, only surfacing to answer questions when called upon, or respond to his friends' concerns robotically. Fortunately there was plenty of studying to do, so he took a leaf out of Hermione's book, so to speak, and barricaded himself behind stacks of notes and library books. He took to skipping breakfast, and sleeping as late as he possibly dared, so he wouldn't have to face Ron and his other roommates' concern. He even was shocked at his own unwillingness to meet Hermione's eyes, which were constantly searching him for the source of his withdrawal. He was afraid to talk to anyone – because if he were to start talking, he felt as though Snape's secret was bound to come spilling out of him, it was so close to the surface.

"And if that comes spilling out," Harry felt, more than thought, "Who knows what else would?"

Keeping secrets...he had hated keeping the Prophecy a secret. He had hated trying to hide his painful or embarrassing thoughts from Snape during Occlumency...and now, he hated this new secret with a passion. He felt as though each year, brick by brick, a wall was built between himself and the surrounding world. It was simultaneously comforting and claustrophobic, just as his cupboard under the stairs had been, and he both needed it and resented it.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was nearly over. It was Friday, and having already finished their nastily exhausting midterms the day before, everyone was looking forward to heading home at the end of the day. Everyone was too busy chatting and passing notes to pay attention anyway, so Harry figured his lack of attentiveness would go relatively unnoticed. He wasn't that lucky, however.

As usual, Seamus had his eye on his watch, and as he cheerfully shouldered his school bag, the class erupted into a ragged cheer.

"Everyone, have a nice break!" Lupin called cheerfully, now back to his rightful place in front of the class, the mirror stowed safely in the corner, "Remember, a foot on Hexes by the time we get back! Be safe! And?"

"Constant vigilance!" the class replied, as they bottlenecked at the door.

"Harry!" said Lupin more quietly, "I wonder if I might have a word?"

Harry walked back to Lupin's desk, and was surprised to see Ron and Hermione beating a hasty retreat.

"Where are you lot going?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Packing," Ron said, "I've got stuff all over the place."

"Me too," Hermione said, she was a horrible liar – Harry knew she always spoke a bit too loudly when she was lying, and she was turning a bit pink...she'd never have stuff all over the place...in fact, she'd probably been packed for days.

"We'll meet you for dinner," Ron said with a friendly nod.

"Well, now that I've got you to myself," Lupin said, seating himself at his desk.

Harry frowned. This was all a bit too choreographed. He smelled a sting operation.

"Did Hermione put you up to this?" he asked, point-blank.

"Harry, they're just worried about you, both of them. Hermione and Ron came to me after class on Wednesday, and told me how strangely you'd been acting. I was wondering..."

Lupin sighed, and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, quite frankly, there's just so many things that might be bothering you, I figured I'd better just ask which one it was, and see if there was anything I could do to help."

Harry felt the secret pressing up against his tongue, his teeth – "Snape is vampire. Snape is a vampire. SNAPE IS A VAMPIRE!"

But a sudden thought occurred to him – surely Lupin knew? Was there some way he could tell Lupin...without telling him?

"Go on," Lupin said, leaning forward, and eyeing Harry warmly, "I can see whatever it is that you want to tell me."

"That's just it," Harry said, helplessly, "I promised I wouldn't."

"Maybe you could just sort of talk around it," Lupin said, a casual smile playing on his lips, "And I could figure it out."

Harry wrinkled his brow suspiciously, "Are you [I]sure[/I] you're a Hogwarts teacher?"

Lupin laughed out loud.

"James and Sirius had lots of secrets, but James was horrible at keeping them. For any of his character flaws, James was honest," Lupin laughed, "We played this game all the time. More often than not, I figured it out in five minutes...Just tell me in general terms."

"Well," Harry began hesitantly, "There's this...person. Who's...not what he seems to be."

"Hmm. Is this person a friend of yours?"

"No!" Harry said immediately, "No way!"

"Hmm...does he have blond hair?" Lupin asked, his eyes narrowing.

"No," Harry said, uncomfortably.

Suddenly, Lupin's eyebrows shot up.

"Aaaah..." he said, "Right. A professor, then? Looms about the castle like an old bat?" He allowed himself a smile, "Pointy teeth?"

Harry squirmed guiltily. He still felt like he'd tattled. He wondered if Snape would figure it out.

Lupin took out his wand, and flicked it casually at the door.

"[I]Ferma. Impeturbatus.[/I]"

The door clicked shut, locked itself, and the noise from the hallway suddenly ceased. Lupin leaned casually on his elbows.

"Harry, you don't need to feel guilty for coming to me. I already knew – which you've probably figured out by now. The entire staff knows. And now, so do you. I hope, however," he added, his expression becoming stern, "You weren't snooping about."

"No," Harry said, honestly, "Really, it just...happened."

Lupin nodded reassuringly, "I believe you, Harry. As a matter of fact, Professor Snape and Dumbledore, along with myself, were worried for a while that this might happen as a result of your Occlumency lessons – it's one of the many reasons Professor Snape wasn't keen to continue them. He was embarrassed when you glimpsed his past last year – but moreso, he was frightened by what you hadn't seen...hadn't seen, but might have. No matter how much he puts into that Pensieve, there's always stray memories, overlayed memories, or memories that are simply too strong to be removed that you might have stumbled upon."

"But...he's dangerous!" Harry said, synapses firing, "How can he—"

"[I]I'm[/I] dangerous, Harry. You're dangerous. Anyone can be dangerous. Peter—"

He stopped himself, and took a slow, even breath.

"Peter Pettigrew is enough to convince you of that. A mild-mannered wizard of very little talent...no extraordinary abilities to speak of, other than the Animagus ability, of course...but look at how dangerous he was. No, Professor Snape is no more or less dangerous than any of us. Though try telling that to him," he added irritably, "He still seems convinced I'm going to be the ruin of this place." 

"The legislation..." Harry said, information clicking into place, "That's why he was rubbing it in your face – it didn't apply to vampires. And...and you're a werewolf, and he's a vampire...Is that what you meant about 'family business,' and why you hate each other so much?"

"Yes," Lupin said, smiling, "You should know this from your reading, but vampires and werewolves are ancient, nearly instinctual enemies. I've tried to extend the olive branch, of course," Lupin mused, leaning back in his chair, and looking out the window, "But...well, perhaps I haven't been trying as hard as I might."

"I thought you might figure it out in Hagrid's class...I know Miss Granger did. Hagrid nearly let the bat out of the bag during his class, when he went on about the new legislation. He'd invited Professor Snape, actually, be he refused – no great surprise there. I'm often amazed by Hagrid's patience," Lupin mused.

"Why?" Harry asked, angrily, "Why doesn't it apply to vampires? Snape's been treating you like dirt this whole time – He's the one who betrayed your secret! Why should I..."

But he stopped himself. He knew he'd never betray that secret. As tempting as it would be to pay Snape back for what he's done, he realized, to his own annoyance, that he could never do something that malicious.

"'Non-human' and all that nonsense," Harry muttered irritatedly, "What's that supposed to mean, anyway? He's just as non-human as you are!"

"Ah," Lupin said raising a finger, "Not so, actually. This is another sticky, fidgety legal thing, Harry. You see, vampires are really just another type of human, apparently."

"What?!" Harry asked, still trying to absorb everything.

"The Ministry tries not to interfere with vampires," Lupin sighed sadly, "Because you can't very well fault them – they need to eat, after all. Also, unlike werewolves, they keep their mind at all times. Besides that, true vampires are basically immortal – there's not much punishment you can devise for an immortal. After all, a prison term is like having to wait in a queue at the bank for them. And to sentence them to life – well, that's just silly... 'An eternity' isn't a feasible jail sentence, in part because it's unenforceable."

"But vampires kill people! And what do you mean, immortal?" Harry said, his head whirling, "Snape was young...I've seen him young!"

"One question at a time, Harry. First of all, a vampire doesn't need to kill its victim in order to feed. They can also survive on non-human blood, however unpalatable that might be. You know," he admonished playfully, "we did cover some of this in third year. You'll remember that after Professor Snape assigned his werewolves essay, I decided to spend a unit on vampires?"

"Refresh my memory," Harry said wearily, sitting at a nearby desk, and feeling thoroughly idiotic. Lupin laughed.

"You needn't be so hard on yourself, Harry. Professor Snape is very good at guarding his secret."

"Hermione figured it out," Harry said, mopily, "She probably had a hunch as soon as you set the essay."

"Probably," Lupin said, smiling, "But stop kicking yourself for just a moment so I can answer some of your questions."

"Alright," Harry said, "What do you mean 'basically immortal?'"

"Well," Lupin explained, "A true vampire can't be killed except by prolonged exposure to direct sunlight, or by severe trauma to the heart. Which sounds a bit silly to me, quite frankly," Lupin said wryly, "As a stake through the heart would kill just about anything."

"A stake through the heart?" Harry said weakly.

"Well," Lupin said, shaking his head, "Not necessarily. Any direct damage to the heart will do it, really. And none of that crosses and garlic and holy water nonsense does any good either. Though they do have a mild allergic reaction to garlic," Lupin said, his eyes glazing over fondly, "Which your father and Sirius delighted in taking advantage of."

"They [I]knew?[/I]" Harry asked, incredulously.

His father's voice echoed in his head:

"It's more the fact that he [I]exists,[/I] really..."

"Vampires have always been viewed as dark creatures," Lupin said, his voice dropping nearly to a whisper. His face suddenly looked so old. "As have werewolves. You can imagine how much it pained me that your father and Sirius couldn't draw the parallel – I was fine, because they already knew me – but they hated him practically on instinct, and when they found out that he...well, of course, they hated him for a lot of other reasons too," he admitted.

"So...okay," Harry said, spurring his brain to catch up, "This still doesn't fit...Snape's been out in the sunlight – he refereed that Quidditch game! And...and the immortality bit! He was young once...and it wasn't that long ago!"

"Yes, yes!" Lupin said, smiling as he held up a hand.

"And the mirror!" Harry added hurriedly, "I know he has a reflection—"

"Yes, yes, let me catch up with you!" Lupin admonished gently, "First off, you have to remember our unit on werewolves...Consider the moon light clause– You [I]have[/I] to be directly in the light of the full moon. Just like the silver bullet thing – you can make the bullet out of silver, iron, or your grandmother's wedding ring for all I care, the fact remains, if you get shot in the chest, you're liable to die," Lupin said frankly, "Yes, fine, it is possible for someone with LRS to develop blood poisoning from silver, but still, not quite as dramatic as myth would have us believe, is it? You have to consider, Harry, that much of what you hear about vampires or werewolves is filtered through Muggles, and is largely myth and hearsay."

"Fine," Harry said, "So what's true and what's not?"

"The reflection thing is totally bunk," Lupin said, counting off on his fingers, "Sunlight...A true vampire can die from prolonged exposure to sunlight, but it's rare that happens...they usually have to be tied down. An ancient method of vampire execution. Let's see – garlic is just an allergic reaction, I told you that...Err..."

"Immortality?" Harry prompted.

"Ah, yes. True vampires, aside from those few weaknesses, are essentially immortal—"

"What do you mean 'true vampires?'" Harry asked tentatively, "Is Snape...some kind of...false vampire?"

"Well," Lupin said, "He's only half-vampire. Plus, he's never been bitten by a vampire himself. His father was a vampire."

"His father?" Harry frowned, "But...I think he might have..."

His mind wandered back to the dark man, who was beating a young Severus – the man who he'd...Harry shuddered just to think of it. But...no, he couldn't have been a vampire...And more importantly, could he really talk about this with Lupin?

"Err, yes," Lupin said awkwardly, "Now this is where Snape's business truly ceases to be my business. Hang on a moment."

Lupin rummaged in his desk briefly, and handed Harry what seemed like an ancient book – the cover was tattered and worn – it had been re-attached with Spello-tape many times. Harry read the front cover aloud:

"Bloodlines in Non- or Partial- Human Witches and Wizards: Being a Treatise by Messr. Romulus Noxiadentum On Matters of Descendancy and Transference of Lycanthropy and Vampirism, An Unbiased Exploration of the Strengths and Weaknesses Resulting from said Bloodlines, and Containing a Brief Discussion of the Social and Legal Ramifications of Said Distinctions."

Harry whistled quietly.

"Does it come with a dictionary?"

Lupin laughed aloud.

"Really, is that the title, or the first chapter?" Harry asked, weighing the book in his hands.

"We 'in the family' so to speak, just call it 'Bloodlines,'" Lupin explained, still chuckling, "It's quite dense, but it's the best and most thorough out there. It's been through about a hundred editions. This is an old one, but not much has changed since then – they keep updating it as laws change, but all the information about the bloodlines themselves is accurate. I believe Hermione's checked out the Hogwarts copy," Lupin said wryly, "So why don't you keep that one. It's mine, so it's a bit marked up...sorry about that."

Harry stroked the gritty cover, suddenly realizing again how much Lupin meant to him.

"Really? You don't mind?"

"It's time I bought a new copy anyway," Lupin said warmly, "Seeing as the Ministry's making changes again. Do some homework over the break, Harry...if you hand me in a little summary, I'll even give you extra credit," he added, with a playful wink, "Now, speaking of the break, are you packed? I hope you don't mind sharing with Mr. Weasley again, but I imagine you're used to it."

"You mean," Harry stammered, "It's okay? I don't have to stay here?"

Lupin seemed both surprised and oddly moved. "It's your house, Harry. Not yet, of course, but you're always welcome there...not during summers, of course," he added hastily, "You still need—"

"My mother's family, for the...yes, I know," Harry added glumly. As happy as he'd been to find out he'd be staying with Ron and Lupin at Grimmauld place for Christmas, for just a brief moment he'd dared to hope yet again that he would never have to go back to the Dursleys. It seemed it was going to be that way until the Prophecy was fulfilled – and once that happened, he might not need to worry about where he was going to live...

"Chin up, Harry," Lupin said warmly, "It could be worse. Go on and get your things."

Harry was just about to leave, when his guilty conscience turned him around.

"Professor Lupin? Err...Remus...I haven't haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

"No, Harry. Put it out of your head," Lupin reassured him, his eyes gentle, "Accidents happen. And I think you really needed to talk to someone about this. You haven't told me anything I didn't already know. If Professor Snape gives you a hard time, tell him he can take it up with me. You [I]will,[/I] of course, keep your word?" he added, eyeing Harry sternly.

Harry nodded mutely.

"Good man," Lupin said, the warmth returning to his eyes, "As irritating as Professor Snape can be, to reveal that kind of secret is one of the worst things you can do to a person...believe me, Harry, I know. And remember, one bad turn doesn't deserve another."


	40. Chapter Forty

Almost before he knew it, Harry's trunks were packed, he and Ron had bid a hasty goodbye to Hermione over breakfast the next day, they'd spent all day on the train with Lupin, and the evening found them standing in front of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. And again, as illogical as he knew it was, he felt somehow nearer to Sirius, or at least nearer to his memories of Sirius.

He didn't feel sad, persay...rather, it just seemed to make him feel a bit bruised all over, like he'd just played a hard round of Quidditch. It seemed as if someone were to speak too loudly, he'd wince as though he'd bumped into a table. As they walked up to the ancient, imposing front door, he caught Ron sneaking surreptitious glimpses at him out of the corner of his eye. He really was worried – and if that was so, Hermione was probably going spare, especially being so far from them, and cut off from the wizarding world to boot. He mentally resolved to put some of their fears to rest.

"Right," said Lupin, with slightly false cheeriness, "In we go, then!"

Harry was shocked to see that the decrepit foyer actually looked somewhat inviting. Mrs. Weasley had apparently Scourgified the place within an inch of its life – it even seemed she'd gone so far as to sand the entire sagging staircase, and re-varnish. Clear, pearlescent bubbles floated near the ceiling, glowing a soft gold with conjured fairies merrily dancing and twirling inside them, and she'd hung mistletoe and holly along the banister. Harry could only imagine that a lot of tricky wandwork had gone on, as he knew how busy she must have been with the Order.

Suddenly, there was a stale whiff of gin and dirt, and immediately following, Mundungus Fletcher lurched into the foyer.

"'Arry! And the little terror 'imself!"

"Little terror?" Harry muttered, out of the corner of his mouth.

"No clue," Ron responded, eyeing Dung suspiciously.

"Means he can't remember which Weasley you are," Lupin said, audibly, "Hello, Dung."

Dung tried unsuccessfully to suppress a belch, and fell into a cringing bow.

"Sssir Lupin – hic! – V'been s'pectin' you."

"Well, Mundungus, Nymphadora is practially under the table...honestly, if you insist on – Oh, [I]HARRY![/I]"

But Harry was smothered by Mrs. Weasley's massive, be-knitted bosom as she clamped his head in her vice-like bear hug. Dung took the opportunity to sneak by them and evade her evaporating ire.

"That's nice!" Ron huffed, "I'll just get the trunks, shall I?"

"Thought you were too grown up to give your mother a kiss when you come home!" Mrs. Weasley huffed, smoothing Ron's deliberately mussed hair. He cringed and tried to pull his head away, but Harry caught him grinning as his mother swooped in to kiss his cheek.

"We'll just nip these upstairs," Harry said, making to lug the trunks up the staircase.

"Oh, don't be silly, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley said, taking her knobbly oak wand out of her apron, "You go on in to the kitchen. There's something of a little party going on. [I]Locomotor trunks![/I]"

Indeed, as though to punctuate her words, a raucous burst of men's laughter rang out from the dining room. Harry thought he could detect Ginny's giggle lost somewhere in the mix.

He and Ron entered to kitchen, and Harry was pleased to see the entire Weasley clan (minus Percy of course), along with Tonks, Mad-Eye, Hagrid, and –

"Kingsley!" Ron said, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Kingsley said quietly, as a beaming Hagrid gave him a hearty thump on the back, "Feels a bit odd to be back...but –"

"Dooon't mind him," Tonks said, her face bright and shiny as a tomato, "N'is [I]NONSENSH[/I]."

"Oh dear," Lupin smiled wryly, as Bill poured him a glass of wine.

"It was my fault, of course," Kingsley continued seriously, "Let my guard down –"

"[I]STOBBIT![/I]" Tonks said, her hair going a violent chartreuse in the process, "Tha'shenougha that!"

"Tha'shenough of [I]that[/I], love," Charlie said, liberating her of her mug with a smirk.

Tonks began to protest indignantly: "[I]I[/I] bet Mundungus Fletcher ten quid, that—"

"You won. Good luck getting it, though. Do pull yourself together, Nymphadora," Moody muttered bemusedly, nursing his private flask.

"Is that Firewhiskey?" Ron asked, hopefully. His mother cuffed his head calmly as she walked by, on general principle, but Mr. Weasley surreptitiously pushed his half-empty wine glass in Ron's direction.

Hagrid let out a roar of laughter, and clapped Charlie and Tonks on the back, which sent them both nearly crashing into each other.

"'Ere, gw'an, Molly! Ee's nearly eighteen! Pour 'Arry a jigger while you're at et!"

"They're [I]just[/I] sixteen this year, Rubeus," Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes twinkling, "And a fine example you lot are setting!"

"But it's Christmas Eve, Mum!" Fred said, with a broad grin.

"Go on, Mum," George said, smoothly pouring her a wine, "Just a wee one."

"Oh," Mrs. Weasley said, plomping down at the table, "Well since someone [I]finally[/I] offered!"

"Righ'," Hagrid set, climbing to his feet, and nearly upsetting the table, "S'pose I'd better be off, then."

Mrs. Weasley adopted an expression of extreme concern.

"Are you [I]quite[/I] sure you wouldn't like a coffee, Hagrid?"

"[I]Nonsense![/I]" Hagrid roared, "Never better!"

"Well wrap up, at least," she said, clucking her tongue in a motherly way.

Hagrid stooped quite low, and gave her a kiss on the cheek, Mrs. Weasley tittering and squinting against his whiskers.

"Thank'ee, Mrs. Double-yeh, but I've got good food, good ale, an' good comp'ny to keep me warm!"

"Hear, hear!" Bill said, raising his glass, "To the Founder of the Feast!"

"To Mum!" Ginny squeaked, raising a suspiciously colored butterbeer.

"To Mum!" Nymphadora cried cheerfully, her hair now an interesting mauve, "And God bless us, every one!"

There was another deep roar of laughter.

"Would you like anything, Harry?" Mr. Weasley muttered politely.

"Oh, no thanks," Harry said, grinning.

"You'll have to forgive us," he said, smiling warmly, "We haven't – yes, go on, Ron – we haven't had much to celebrate recently in the Order – and what with having Kingsley back, and it being Christmas and all..."

"The place looks wonderful...and everyone looks really happy," Harry said, feeling the same bruised sensation. He felt like he should say something else, but he wasn't too sure what to say. "Thank you for making this house a home," competed with, "If only Sirius were here."

Ron noisily smacked his lips, and set the empty wineglass back on the table.

Harry became uncomfortably aware of Moody's magical eye on him, as the others gaily laughed and buzzed over their drinks. After a moment, he nodded, and Harry felt as though he ought to go over and say hello.

"Potter," Moody growled quietly, before he got the chance, "Err...occurs that I might've been a bit harsh last time we spoke..."

Harry shook his head. "You were right. I was only thinking of myself."

Moody grinned a lop-sided grin, and nodded. "You're a credit to your parents, Harry. Any teacher'll tell you, you only push the good ones."

"Hear, hear," Lupin said, turning away from his own conversation briefly.

"Hear, hear!" cried Tonks robustly, obviously unaware of their discussion.

Later, as the party was dying down, and wine glasses were exchanged for coffee mugs, Harry and Ron sat up in their bedroom with Fred, George, and Ginny. Ginny had thoughtfully smuggled them up some warm mead (hence, the oddly colored butterbeer) which Harry nursed contentedly. Fred and George were entertaining them with tales of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, hands wildly gesticulating – experiments gone wrong, irate Howlers from parents, and dodgy dealings with Dung – they both had some impressive new scars to show off.

"Look," George said, holding out his hand – shiny red marks covered a good portion of his palm. "Blast-Ended Bon-Bons. Still can't get them quite right..."

"That's nothing!" Ron said, grabbing Fred's hand, and sticking it in his hair, "Feel that! Bludger. Nearly killed me!"

"Hang Quidditch," George said, pointing at Ron's blotchy forearms, "Now [I]those[/I] are...Err..."

But Ron had self-consciously pulled his sleeves down to his wrists.

There was a brief quiet. Harry remembered his words from their fight from last year: "Maybe it'll leave a scar! That's what you want, isn't it?" He winced internally.

"Nevermind, mate. Look," Fred said, rolling up his sleeves, and pointing to various bumps, scrapes, and scars, "Order...Order...Angelina Johnson...Quidditch..."

George continued, pulling up his shirt: "Order...Quidditch...Appendix...Angelina Johnson..."

"You git!" Fred cried, with a look like a wounded rhinoceros.

"Got to trim her nails, that girl," George said, thoughtfully taking a swig.

"Ew...Quit being gross," Ginny grimaced.

"Gross?," Fred said, feigning surprise, "Did we offend your dainty little ears?"

"Surely not our dear, sweet, Ginevra," George added.

"I have no interest in your sordid affairs," Ginny huffed teasingly.

"Bet Ron does," Fred said.

"Do not!" Ron said, his ears going red.

"Bet Harry does!" George said, winking at Harry.

"See, we'd just gotten done with practice –"

"La, la, la, not listening!" Ginny squealed, covering her ears.

Ron's watch suddenly beeped loudly.

"Oops – Merry Christmas, you lot!"

Everyone decided to hurry off to bed before Mrs. Weasley made the rounds – the Weasley children were expected to be asleep before midnight on Christmas Eve. Sure enough, no sooner had Harry and Ron settled into their covers did they hear Mrs. Weasley's feet creaking up the stairs, and pausing by their door. Harry thought back to his lonely vigil at Privet Drive that summer...how he'd imagined Ron pretending to be asleep as Mrs. Weasley prowled the house at night, accustomed by many years to running on little sleep, always one eye out for her children...He heaved a deep sigh, and snuggled into the crisp sheets, asleep before he even knew it.

Harry's dreams were difficult that night – every time he thought he understood something, it slipped just out of his reach. He found himself hiding in the corridor that led to the Department of Mysteries. Yet, inexplicably, he knew that wasn't where he was going. He was suddenly pushed, almost forcibly, into the blue-torch room, but he felt as though he ought to go back...there was something...something happening...his mind wandered back to his trial, before the Wizengamot. Suddenly his head was jerked around, and Sirius was standing before him. Yet he seemed to know that it wasn't really him. What was happening in the Wizengamot?

"Harry! Harry wake up!" bellowed Ron, leaping onto his bed and shaking him fiercely, "It's Christmas!"

"For heaven's sake, Ron," Harry said, grinning blearily as he reached for his glasses. He tried to cling to the last traces of his dream, but it slipped through his fingers like sand. Something about Sirius...and the Department of Mysteries...and there was something else...

"Well, come on!" Ron said, his eyes shining. Harry was reminded of their first Christmas together at Hogwarts – as old as they got, some things never changed.

As though to confirm his thoughts, a new sweater was draped over the end of his bed – this one was blue, and Mrs. Weasley had obviously spent quite a bit of time on it. But what caused the lump to rise in Harry's throat, was that there was no pattern of snitches, or broomstick, or owl on the front, but rather –

"An H," Harry stammered, holding the folded sweater in his hands gingerly, as though it might disappear if he handled it too roughly, "It's...I have an H..."

"What were you expecting, a Q?" Ron asked, eyeing his own with a slightly disappointed expression, "Mine's maroon. Again. She must think I like that color...Or maybe she's just trying to color-code us to keep us all straight in her head..."

Suddenly the door burst open, and Ginny came bounding in, wearing her "G" sweater in a pretty shade of kelly green.

"Go on, put yours on, Harry!" she said by way of greeting, flinging herself onto Harry's bed, and scooting backwards so she could lean on the headboard.

Harry pulled the sweater on over his T-shirt, and felt how warm and soft it was. The collar itched his neck a little bit, but he couldn't have been happier with it – he knew it was going to join the growing collection of prized possessions in his trunk.

"What else did you get?" Ron asked, opening one of the Bertie Botts boxes sitting at the foot of his bed.

"Are the hat and scarf from your Mum too?" Harry asked, holding up a slightly lopsided knit hat and scarf.

"No, those are Hermione's," Ron said, "She made me a hat too, but I got mittens instead of a scarf. See?"

He held up a knit cap that seemed to be made from varying shades of red and maroon, and two mittens which might have fit Hagrid very nicely, but Harry was quite confident would do better as hats for Ron.

"Who's this from?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her nose at Lupin's battered copy of "Bloodlines."

"Oh," Harry said, taking it from her quickly, "That's just...I borrowed that from Lupin. Just some light reading."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, but declined to comment.

"You and Hermione and your 'light reading,'" Ron said, shaking his head at the thickness of the dusty book. He shook his head, and his smile snapped back into place. "Well, go on! What did you get me?"

"Ron, honestly!" Ginny said, blushing slightly.

"Here," Harry grinned, hopping off the bed and crossing over to his trunk, and taking out a small brown paper package, marked with two interlocking Q's, "I had to do everything via Owl Order, so none of it's wrapped – sorry!"

"Wicked! A Snitch!" Ron said, unwrapping the small package, "Thanks, Harry!"

"Careful," Harry said, "You push the scrollwork just there, to practice with it. And once you catch it, you just push it again. It's also got a containment charm on it, so you won't lose it."

"Thanks, Harry!" Ginny said brightly, but then blushed. "Well, I mean...I know it's for Ron, but we all practice together anyway, so..."

"Says you!" Ron said, gazing lovingly at the Snitch's shiny gold surface, "Think I'm letting Fred and George get a glimpse of this?"

"This is for you, Gin," Harry said, handing her a brown package that said "Flourish and Blotts" on it. Ginny paled.

"Oh, Harry!" she said, "I only got you sweets! We don't usually do presents!"

"That's fine!" Harry said, laughing, "Honestly. I'm always kind of amazed that I get them at all, so I don't mind, really."

Ginny opened up the package with trembling hands, and took out –

"A diary," she said, hesitantly, running her hand over the smooth, brown leather of the cover.

"Muggle," Harry said, a bit anxiously, "Only thing enchanted on it is the lock. I figured...well, I thought you might like one. You know, just a normal one. I wasn't sure whether – well, if you don't like it, you can always take it back—"

"It's perfect," Ginny said, her eyes shining brightly, "Thank you!"

"Kids! Come on down and have some breakfast!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed.

"Just wait and see what Father Christmas brought this morning," Ginny said, with a mischevous grin.

"This morning? You mean last night," Harry said, confusedly.

"Well, are you coming or not?" she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she bounded down the stairs.

Ron and Harry made eye contact, and eagerly flew down the stairs after her.

Harry followed Ginny into the kitchen, and sitting calmly at the table, holding a mug of tea and chatting with Lupin and Mr. Weasley was...

"Hermione!" shouted Ron, flabbergasted.

"Happy Christmas!" she said, smiling broadly. She jumped up from her seat and gave Harry and Ron a tight squeeze.

Lupin laughed aloud, "You look as though you've seen a ghost, Harry."

"Hermione, what are you doing here?" Harry finally managed to stammer joyfully, "What about your parents?"

"Oh," Hermione said airily, "We usually do most of our celebrating on Christmas Eve anyway...and I told them it would only be for a day or two...and they were fine."

"Wicked!" Ron said, clearly as delighted as Harry was, "I thought it would going to be a whole month before...the two of us got to see you again!"

But Harry could hear that Hermione wasn't telling the whole truth. While he could imagine the Dursleys were only too pleased to be free of him for Christmas, Hermione's parents were probably a bit miffed. She'd been leaving them as far out of her life as a witch as possible, ever since she'd gotten to Hogwarts. They must have felt as though the wizarding world was stealing her away yet again...he wondered if she'd even told them about the Ministry last year...

"We didn't get you in trouble, did we?" he asked quietly.

"Nonsense," Hermione lied airily. Her face suddenly lit up, "Did you get the hats and things? I made them myself!"

"Yeah!" Ron said, and Harry could hear how over-cheerful he was, "Thanks, Hermione! Great job on the mittens!"

"Socks," she said sourly, one eyebrow raised.

"Right! I meant socks," Ron said, his ears going a bit red, "Slip of the tongue."

"Hang on," Harry said, "We left yours up in the room."

"We can do it later," Hermione said, dragging him to the table, "Come and eat, you two!"

"Grab a plate, dear," Mrs. Weasley said warmly, turning from her place at the stove.

Mrs. Weasley had indeed outdone herself. Soon, Bill and Charlie joined them for cinnamon buns, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and potatoes. Fred and George came tromping lazily into the room, rubbing their eyes, their hair sticking up.

"Honestly, you two!" Mrs. Weasley chided, "You're up at the crack of dawn to go fiddle with your exploding this, and shrinking whatsits, but you can't get out of bed on Christmas morning?"

"Zackly," Fred said, yawning.

"Only chance we get to sleep in," George muttered, lazy scratching his stomach.

"Well, take a plate. And for heaven's sake, Arthur, put down the paper – what is honestly going to happen on Christmas Day?"

"Hmm?" Arthur said, looking up, distractedly, "Ah, yes. Quite right, sorry."

Harry couldn't help but noticed that his smile seemed strained, however. And when he put the paper down on the table, he'd put it headline-down, and without turning his head, had pushed it ever so slightly towards Lupin, who calmly took the paper and put it in his lap.

Later, Mrs. Weasley had magically shrunk the kitchen table, and levitated it onto the kitchen counter, out of harm's way. Mr. Weasley had, in turn, conjured some comfortable, very worn armchairs for the adults, while Harry and everyone else crowded nearer to the fire crackling merrily in the grate, to swap presents and pull wizard crackers.

"Thank you, Harry!" Hermione said cheerfully, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Harry had gotten Hermione a Glowworm from Flourish and Blotts, a magical bug that fed on dust and book-binding glue. When it wriggled into the spine of your book, it made the words glow faintly for night-time reading. He'd just opened a box from Fred and George full of canary creams, and a box of Ton-Tongue Toffee ("for Dudley").

Ron hastily handed Hermione a small box while everyone else was opening or chatting.

"Here," he said abruptly, turning scarlet.

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said brightly, opening it up. She opened up the small black box, and was surprised to see a small gray stone pendant on a silver chain. It looked for all the world like a garden-variety chunk of granite to Harry, but Hermione, for once in her life, was actually lost for words.

"Wow, Ron," she breathed quietly.

Harry caught Mrs. Weasley watching them out of the corner of her eye with a Cheshire Cat grin, and he shifted slightly in his seat.

"It's a Ver –"

"Veritastone, I know," Hermione said, her eyes wide, "Ron, this is..."

"It's kind of like a Sneakoscope...it turns cold if someone's telling you a lie," Ron explained unnecessarily, for Harry was sure Hermione knew what it was, "So you always know that...people are telling the truth," he finished, making fleeting eye contact, and then returning to the floor, "About important stuff."

"Ron..."

But he just laughed awkwardly, and opened up a chocolate frog.

"Want one, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry said, automatically catching the frog as it lept out of Ron's hand, and watching as Hermione looped the chain over her neck, and dropped the stone under her sweater. His present suddenly seemed sort of juvenile, but he pushed the thought out of his head – it was Christmas, and he wasn't going to be so stupid as to worry about whose present was better.

"This one's yours, Harry!" Lupin said, sliding a small box across the floor to Harry. He opened it up and found a rather old, but beautiful wrist watch inside, with a worn black leather band.

"Thanks!" Harry said, strapping it on to his wrist, "I really needed one!"

"It was Sirius's, I think. Or your Dad's...I honestly can't remember," Lupin said warmly, "They tended to 'borrow' each other's things. Either way, Sirius left it here. I'm sure he'd want you to have it. Oh, and it shows the phases of the moon."

The face was the color of old parchment, and the numbers were in spiky roman numerals. A small window just to the right of the hands showed the date, and a tiny picture of the waning moon – every few seconds a shooting star shot by it.

"This is really great," Harry said, feeling both highly grateful, and slightly shy, as everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen, "Thank you. Oh! I got you something too! Err, if Fred and George brought them..."

"Right!" Fred said, suddenly remembering, "[I]Accio Lupin's Present.[/I]"

To everyone's delight, a small, sloppily wrapped package came whizzing in from the staircase, but the sweets from the Weasley family and the scarf from Hermione both lept off of Lupin's lap, and bonked Fred in the head as well.

"Should have been a bit more specific there," George said, cheerfully returning Lupin's gifts, along with Harry's.

Lupin eyed the package suspiciously – it was, after all, covered in nearly as much Spellotape as wrapping paper, which was a lurid yellow and green and marked with the "WWW" logo.

"Is it safe for me to open this?" Lupin asked, only half-kidding.

"Err, right, sorry about the wrapping," George said, "But we told everyone we'd gift-wrap for the holidays, and we didn't hire any extra help."

"And apparently I'm better at unwrapping presents than wrapping them, even with a wand," Fred added, "We were up all night last night."

Lupin painstakingly peeled back the tape and delicately folded back the paper, to both Harry and Ron's great annoyance (they were rippers), and opened the package to find –

"Tasteless Toffees!" Lupin said, sounding slightly confused, "Thank you, Harry! Err...boys, what do they do?"

"Exactly what they say," Fred said proudly.

"Eat one, and it tastes like toffee for about five seconds...after which, you can't taste anything for an hour," George added, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh! Well...err...thank you very much, Harry..."Lupin said, clearly trying to sound delighted with his present.

"But...They're for your potion," Harry said, feeling a bit wounded, "Because...remember, you said it tasted really foul?"

Lupin's eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he held up one of the toffees, turning it over in his fingers. A slow smile crept across his features, and his eyes had gotten overbright – Harry sighed a sigh of relief – he knew he'd done well this year.

"Thank you, Harry," he said warmly, "That's...that's very thoughtful of you. And thank you, boys!" he added to the Weasley twins, as an afterthought.

"Think nothing of it!" Fred said, winking, "We know you'll be back!"

"Shall we just assume you'd like fifty more?" George added.

"I'll owl you," Lupin laughed.

In fairly short order, all of the presents were unwrapped. By far the most surprising present was a new broom for Ginny, which she was squealing over in the corner.

"I don't want you boys spending that much money," Mrs. Weasley admonished Fred and George.

"We all pitched in," Bill added, "Besides, it's time she had a decent broom."

"It's got air brakes," Charlie was saying excitedly, kneeling next to Ginny, "And it handles really sharply...great for Chasing. You have to put the cushioning charm on yourself, though, it was extra for that...but Mum's good at them..."

Harry noticed Mr. Weasley take the crown from his wizard cracker off, as Mrs. Weasley gathered the discarded wrapping paper. His face seemed tired and careworn, as though he had something very weighty on his mind. It seemed the presents were over...

"Err...right," Harry said, "There's one more present...it's for you...Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

All traces of care vanished from Mr. Weasley's face, and he smiled warmly. "Harry, you didn't have to get us anything!"

"We don't want you spending your money, dear," Mrs. Weasley admonished for the second time, "And it's Arthur and Molly, for goodness' sakes!"

"Right," Harry said, feeling his face go warm. He felt a bit light-headed. "Well, err...if it's alright with Lupin and everything...I think...I'd like you to have the house."


	41. Chapter Forty One

There was a long silence at this. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked absolutely stunned. Harry had been expecting surprise, but this seemed a bit less elated than he'd been hoping for.

"The house?" he ventured, "This one, I mean?"

Nothing. They continued to stare at him in absolute shock.

Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione, trying to see if they thought this was odd behavior, but with a lurching feeling in his stomach, saw that they were both staring at him, open-mouthed.

"Err, Harry..." stammered Mr. Weasley, "That's...that's too much."

"Oh!" Harry said, relieved that that was the issue, "No it's not! I want you to have it."

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said very patiently, as though speaking to a small child, "It's not your fault that our house burned down..."

"I know it's not," Harry said, starting to frown a bit, "I just...want you to have it, that's all." Why was everyone being so odd?

"That's very kind of you, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, putting his arm around Mrs. Weasley's waist, who had sat on the arm of his armchair, "But Molly and I are fine. We'll find a place of our own soon, and be out of your hair."

"Out of...you're not [I]in[/I] anyone's hair!" Harry said, wondering how on Earth they could all be so daft. Even Lupin was eyeing him uncomfortably, and Hermione had suddenly become very absorbed in her box of Bertie Bott's, tracing the looping script with her finger.

"Err – Harry," Fred said, "It's fine, really."

"Most of us are on our own now anyway," George said. But Harry could tell that wasn't the reason they were declining.

"Harry," Ron said, from his right, and when Harry turned, he noticed he had the same downcast, flushed expression he always got when Harry paid for things, "You can't keep giving us things."

"Why not?" Harry retorted, irritated that Ron could be so stubborn about money.

"We'll manage fine on our own."

"Why? Why should you 'manage' when you don't have to?" Harry said, and was surprised at his own passion on the subject. "It makes me happy to...Look, you keep forgetting that you've given me things too, things that are important, a lot more important than a house, or, or robes, or..."

He trailed off, sensing that the Weasleys were still quietly resisting the notion. He felt the wool of his collar itching his neck.

"What's this then?" he demanded, holding the fabric between his finger and thumb, "Were you just being polite?"

"Harry, what a thing to say!" Mrs. Weasley reprimanded, "On Christmas Day!"

"Then what's the problem?" Harry asked sadly, "You need a house – I have a house. Why can't it just..."

But this wasn't how he'd wanted it to be, and he certainly didn't want to fight with the Weasley family on Christmas Day – not when they were being so kind to him, not when they were all getting along so well, and finally having a good day for once.

"I didn't mean to be rude," he said quietly, "You're right, of course. I just thought...I'm sorry. I've spoiled it."

"It wasn't rude at all, Harry," Mr. Weasley said gently, "It was incredibly generous of you. I, for one, am humbled, and very grateful...I just can't help but think..."

He stopped himself, seemingly having decided that what he was about to say had better be rephrased.

"This house has been dead for many years, Harry," he said gently, "I can't help but think that you're trying...to bring it back to life."

Harry nodded jerkily, and looked back at the floor. He knew what Arthur meant. No matter how many cheerful Weasleys he crammed the house with, or no matter how hard Molly scrubbed, Grimmauld Place would never be the Burrow, Sirius was not going to come strolling through the door, and Arthur and Molly weren't ever going to be his Mum and Dad – what was lost, was lost.

"Besides dear," Mrs. Weasley said, "We could never accept something like that – it wouldn't be fair to turn you from a family member into a benefactor."

Harry shrugged, trying to return to normalcy. He didn't want to be a wet blanket, not when everyone was so happy – it was time to stop all this gravity.

"It's just a house...I shouldn't have made a big deal out of it," he said, grinning casually, "I just...wanted to give you something really great...you know, to kind of pay you back for everything."

"Oh, Harry dear! You don't have to pay us back for anything," Mrs. Weasley said, crossing to him, seizing his head in both hands, and planting a firm kiss on the top of his head, "That's what family is for. Now, why don't we clean up here a bit, and you kids can go play with your new toys?"

"Honestly," Ron muttered, "We're not five!"

But Harry saw him hungrily eyeing Ginny's new Shooting Star.

Later that night, after a delicious dinner, and after Ginny had begged and pleaded to take a ride on her broom (and been rebuffed) for the final time, the younger set found themselves drifting upstairs to relax while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Lupin cleaned up downstairs.

"So you're off, then?" Harry barely heard, as he walked upstairs.

"Yes," came Lupin's voice, "I've probably stayed too late already, but..."

His voice, however, trailed off into indecipherable muttering, and Harry was surprised to realize, for once, that he didn't feel the urge to eavesdrop. He was clinging to the warm, full, happy feeling in his midriff, and didn't want a single thing to impinge.

"Look," Hermione whispered urgently, handing Harry the Daily Prophet.

"Nope," Harry said firmly.

"You'll want to read this," she said, urgently.

"No I won't," Harry reassured her, "For just one day, I'm taking out my remote control and pushing 'pause' on the entire world."

"Can they really do that?" Ron asked, intrigued, "Remote whatsits?"

"Controls. No," Hermione replied abruptly, then turned back to Harry, "They were hiding it."

Harry stopped climbing the stairs for a moment, and grimmaced. Hermione really knew how to play to his weaknesses – she knew he wouldn't be able to resist answering the inevitable questions that such a statement would provoke.

"Why would they hide the Daily Prophet from us?" Ron asked, nervously.

"Didn't you see Mr. Weasley at breakfast?" Hermione asked him in an urgent whisper, leaning in closer, "He put the paper face down and slid it over to Lupin before he stood up. I thought it was fishy...and when Lupin caught me trying to read over his shoulder, he folded it up. When we went to go open presents, I caught him sneaking it into the umbrella stand."

"He just doesn't want us to worry on Christmas," Ron interrupted, clearly not interested, "Speaking of Remus, just where is ol' Moony off to, anyway? I mean, he didn't even say goodbye."

"Well, you see Ron," Hermione said, her voice heavy-laden with sarcasm, "When you're a member of a secret society, you tend not to talk about it overmuch. Come [I]on[/I]!"

She dragged them into their room, and with a quick flick of the wand, cried "[I]Impeturbatus![/I]"

"You're not supposed to do magic!" Ron said, his eyes wide.

"Ministry permission?"

"Oh yeah," Ron remembered excitedly, looking like Christmas had come twice this year, "I nearly forgot!"

"Look," she said, holding out the paper for both of them to read.

Harry scanned the headline, and had to do a double-take.

"AMELIA BONES DISAPPEARS: DEATH EATERS SUSPECTED"

"Amelia Bones!" Ron repeated, a look of shock on his face, "Dad knows her from work! She's some Ministry bigwig..."

"She's on the Wizengamot," Harry said, his heart sinking.

"And, the head of [I]Magical Law Enforcement![/I]" Hermione emphasized in a heavy whisper, "You know what this means, don't you?"

"The Ministry's in a shambles," Harry said, sitting on the edge of the bed, "First Kingsley attacked, now Amelia Bones missing...There's no telling how many under the Imperious..."

There was a sudden loud "Crack!" that made them all start, and Fred suddenly appeared lounging on Ron's bed, while George strolled over and glanced at the paper.

"Ah," Fred said, "We wondered what you three were talking about that was so top-secret you made the door Imperturbable. Not nearly as salacious as we'd been hoping..."

"Twice as depressing though," George said, his jaw set, "Don't let Mum or Dad know you've seen it. Lupin was trying to—"

"Hide it from us, we know," Harry finished, "Do you ever knock?"

"No," Fred said cheerfully, "But Ginny is – not that you can hear her. Poor thing, fuming in the hallway, beating her wee fists about an inch away from the door."

Harry got up hurriedly, and hastened to let her in.

"Oh, go on, give her another few seconds," Fred pleaded, grabbing at his sleeve, "She turns all red, it's really funny."

Ginny was indeed, flushed and fuming when Harry opened the door.

"What is everyone talking about that I don't know about?" she demanded.

"Sorry, Gin," Harry said, "Come on in."

He re-sealed the door after she flounced in.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Not sure you want to know, really," Harry said, frowning, "It's bad news."

"Literally," Fred added, seriously.

Ginny took the paper from Hermione, and scanned it, her eyes widening. The bedsprings gave a small creak as she sank to the bed next to Fred.

"'Ms. Bones was reported missing when she failed to return home after work on Christmas Eve,'" Ginny quoted morosely, "'just as the Ministry was congratulating itself on the successful return of Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt from the Imperius Curse. Yet more disturbing than the timing of this most recent disappearance, is the reminder that the Death Eaters have access into the Ministry even at the highest levels, and that they come not only in search of power, but bearing a grudge.'"

"What do they mean, 'a grudge?'" Ron asked, shifting weight nervously.

"Amelia Bones is hard on crime," Hermione said flatly, "Or was. She's put away dozens of Death Eaters and their sympathizers."

"No," Harry added, remembering something he'd read before they'd left, "Well, yes, but more than that...She was the one who recommended the death penalty for Lucius Malfoy."

There was a long silence at this.

"How can he be just...out there?" Ron scowled, his ears going pink, "Just – walking about 'disappearing' people..."

"Hey!" Fred said, defensively, "The Order's doing everything they can!"

"No one's blaming the you," Hermione hurriedly smoothed over.

"These guys are pros!" added George, his expression uncharacteristically grim, "Plain and simple. The Death Eaters who managed to survive ol' Moldywart's first rise to power, are the ones who are the best at not-getting-caught."

"How?" Hermione asked, "Honestly, I just don't see how it's possible for them to consistently evade capture like this!"

Fred shrugged, "It's easy, really. Be it friends in high places, or learning to cover their tracks really well, being good liars, being more ruthless than the rest –"

"Or frankly, just by being powerful," George added, turning to face his twin. Fred scowled.

"Face it, Fred," George said, "Like it or not, they're some of the most powerful, talented wizards of our time. And they all have a knack for getting themselves out of trouble."

"Sounds like a couple handsome twins you know?" Fred asked Harry with a wink.

"Well, that's a given," George added, as though this were perfectly obvious, "Don't worry, you lot. The Order's still got a few tricks up its sleeve."

But it was hard for Harry and the rest to shake the feeling that the Order was treading in place. Who knew where Lupin, Snape, Hagrid, and Dumbledore were off to...who knew what new "tricks" they were hurriedly trying to stash up their sleeves. But knowing what he did about the prophecy, Harry had a feeling it was all going to come down to him, no matter how much the Order tried to reassure him.

Even more frightening was the prospect that this was all these attacks were merely cogs in a grander design.

"I can't help but get the feeling that Voldemort is deliberately trying to weaken the Ministry," Hermione said quietly, after everyone else had left for bed.

"I know," Harry agreed, "His Death Eaters keep popping up in places they oughtn't be – so far, they've broken into Gringott's, the Department of Mysteries, the Wizengamot—"

"Fudge's Office, the School, the Shrieking Shack," Ron continued.

"They're like termites," Hermione said, "The wizarding world is full of all these holes – they keep making it weaker and weaker."

Hermione left for home the next day, which left both Harry and Ron moping about the house. Finally, Ginny was fed up with the two of them.

"Why don't you at least go do some studying?" she said, after they'd sulked through another chess game by the fire, "If you're not going to be any fun, you might as well be productive."

Figuring this was sound logic, Harry decided to go get some more work done in Bloodlines.


	42. Chapter Forty Two

The relationship between werewolves and vampires, and more importantly, the relationships between varying [I]types[/I] of werewolves and vampires was much more complex than Harry had expected, made no easier by the arcane, florid prose of Romulus Noxiadentum.

Most of what Harry read about werewolves, he already knew. Lycanthropy, or werewolfism, was passed on via a virus in the saliva coming into contact with an open wound, the primary side-effects being fairly obvious, but vampirism was, by contrast, a permanent, magical state of being, rather than a physiological one. The Ministry therefore made it's case that while being infected with LRS designated a wizard as a completely new type of creature, a magical state of being did not classify a change of species.

The only new bit of werewolf information that he gleaned was that werewolves had, at one time, been the slaves of vampires, up until the mass revolts in Romania, as recently as the late 1800's. He also found out why vampires and werewolves were prejudicially viewed as "dark creatures," in the wizarding, and Muggle world:

"It is common knowledge to even the least astute of laymen that Lycanthropes and Vampires in all their various incarnations are creatures in possession of a deep and instinctual Dark Magic which is considered definitive to their very being; yet all well-educated historians, genealogists, and well-educated members of the cloth can inform the reader as to precisely why: It is a well-known fact that Vampires and Lycanthropes are direct descendants of that most abominable and blasphemous of brothers, first made known to the world in the early verses of the Bible itself – yes, gentle reader, the murderous blight that plagues these woeful individuals can be correctly interpreted as nothing more or less than the mark of Cain itself. Oh yes, the more fool-hardy and self-congratulatory historian of the so-called 'Age of Englightenment' will be quick to dismiss this as superstition, or mere religious fervor – yet we of the old guard, say 'Let those modernist degenerates neglect the sanctity of their souls to the benefit of their intellects, and regret the sin of Pride when they are called to judgement!'"

Here, Lupin had scribbled, "[I]Superstitious, Victorian RUBBISH![/I]" in firm, angry strokes. Harry smiled to himself. If Lupin was a descendent of Cain, then Harry was a grindylow. Besides, vampires and werewolves were clearly not related – it did, however, explain why both the wizarding and the Muggle world tended to distrust them so instinctively.

Harry sighed, and sat up briefly, rolling his head on his shoulders against the crick developing in his neck. It seemed "instinctive distrust" was the general policy in the wizarding world these days – the humans and non-humans, the Muggles and wizards, the Pure and the Halfbloods...even moreso, now that Death Eaters had successfully punctured the Ministry's defenses. Of course, wrinkled old bigots like Romulus Noxiadentum, who waved copies of their own books in gnarled hands only further incited the madness.

Despite Dr. Noxiadentum's unfortunate prejudices, and even more unfortunate tendency towards long-windedness, Harry found himself gobbling up the pages, especially those concerning vampires. He'd never known, for example, that a vampire had to [I]choose[/I] to initiate a new vampire to their bloodline – first, they would need to drain the person dry, then have the victim drink some of their own blood. This would send the new vampire into a frenzy, or bloodlust, which was usually the worst feed of a vampire's long career, as they were less likely to slake their lust before draining their victims. After that initial feed, a vampire need only "top off the tank," so to speak, drinking small amounts of blood without needing to fully drain their victims. Only these, initiated deliberately into a long line of vampires initiated by a single sire, could be called true vampires.

However, there was another way to become a vampire – namely, to be born one. Being immortal came with a price – true vampires could not have children. True vampire women could never carry a child – the stasis of their immortal bodies rejected the growth of new life. There was only one important exception to this rule: A male, true vampire could father a child with a pure-human, pure-blood witch. These half-vampires, sired of true vampires and borne by pureblood witches, had many of the true vampire's abilities, with a few important distinctions. Half-vampires were only slightly more prone to sun exposure than normal humans, could not initiate new vampires, and most importantly – were not immortal.

Harry understood now, why Mieva Pamira and Louis Chauve-souris had referred to themselves as Snape's betters – he was willing to bet that they were true vampires, initiated deliberately, and could trace their "bloodline" all the way back through generations of vampires. He was willing to bet, by extension, that Snape was a half-vampire, and that would mean that the man he had killed was not his real father.

A half-vampire, bastard son...Snape had been despised in his own home, mocked by his own kind, and yet, still feared by the world at large.

Harry suppressed a shudder – he had thought that learning more about vampires would ease his anxieties about Snape, and for a long time they had – it was almost comforting to lose himself in Noxiadentum's archaic, turn-of-the-century prose. It made him feel as if the whole thing were quite removed from himself, like studying something Binns had assigned.

But he came to realize that it wasn't the fact that Snape was a vampire – no, that's not what chilled him the most – what truly made the hairs on Harry's neck stand up, was that he had [I]witnessed[/I] Snape committing murder. The image of the tall, dark, man, normally so menacing and brutish in Snape's memories, lying helplessly on the white carpet gushing blood, his eyes bulging in shock - Snape kneeling down to whisper his parting words...

"Wot're you reading?" Ginny asked, flopping on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Gaah!"

Ginny jerked her head back at Harry's startled shout. "Sorry, I thought you heard me come in."

"Err, no. It's fine, I was just...I figured I'd take your advice and do some studying."

"You're a terrible liar," Ginny said, her eyes twinkling as she snatched the book away from Harry, and dangled it teasingly out of his reach.

"[I]Give it back![/I]" Harry shouted desperately.

Again, Ginny's eyes widened in surprise. She handed the book back to Harry.

"Sorry. I'll leave," she said, standing and heading for the door.

"Ginny, come on!" Harry pleaded, "It's –"

"A secret," Ginny finished, meeting Harry's eyes, "I know." To Harry's surprise, she didn't even look remotely angry. Rather, she was smiling at him tenderly – he seemed to recognize her expression from somewhere else. And what exactly did she mean by, "I know?"

"You shouldn't be so surprised, Harry. You must know I've been watching you since I got to Hogwarts – and you and Ron and Hermione always have some big secret around this time of year. Only this year...it seems different, somehow. You've been keeping lots of secrets lately, Harry. Even from Ron and Hermione. I'm not," she held up a hand, to stave off his phoney denial, "I'm not saying 'shame on you,' or trying to find out what it is. If there's one thing I've learned from watching the Order work, it's that certain secrets you keep."

Ginny looked away from him, her arms crossed, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her eyes seemed very far away, her cheerful mood having evaporated into a contemplative one. Harry noticed tiny details, like the freckles on the bridge of her nose, or the strands of hair that were too short to make it to her ponytail, that she'd tucked impatiently behind her ears. He felt his heart hammering like a trapped rabbit – what did she know? What was she just guessing? Had she heard about Snape? Or the Prophecy?

"I know what it means to have a secret that you can't tell anybody," she said finally, her voice sounding much older, and slightly unsteady, "And I know what it's like to share all your secrets, and have it blow up in your face. And I see you...pulling away from people. And it frightens me, because I know just why you're doing it. You want to protect people...and protect yourself."

She suddenly turned around to face him.

"There are some secrets that [I]ought[/I] to be told. Just...make sure you know which kind yours are."

"I –," Harry began, but Ginny again held up a hand to stop him, smiling gently.

"It's okay," she smiled, gently, "I'll let you get back to your book."

And with that, she left him, closing the door quietly behind her. From his empty frame in the corner of the room, Phinneas Nigellus let out a barely audible "tsk" of frustration.

"What's your problem?" Harry asked the blank frame moodily, as he lay back down on his stomach for more reading.

"It is an unfortunate circumstance of our proximity," sneered Phinneas, his black robes flowing as he sauntered lazily into his picture frame, "That your problems are my problems."

"And you have all the answers, right?" asked Harry angrily, having lost his place, and thumbing through the pages to find where he'd left off, "And I'm just a clod, is that it?"

"Your words, not mine."

"Look, it's complicated. You don't know anything about it," Harry said curtly, "And you don't know anything about me. So shove off."

"Of course, how unfeeling of me...you're [I]so[/I] misunderstood," Phinneas said, rolling his eyes, and stalking out of the frame again, "This is why I gave up teaching."


	43. Chapter Forty Three

It was not too long after that Harry found himself back at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, receiving a joyful hug from Hermione. He felt simultaneously as though his heart would jump out of his chest for joy, and the slight anxiety of a closely-held secret. Ron seemed no less overjoyed, picking Hermione up and swinging her in a complete arc.

"Ron! Honestly!" she said, flushing with a nervous glance at her parents, who were surveying them suspiciously from the brick divide that separated the Platform from the Muggle station. "My parents"

"I can't say hello to my best friend?" he asked, with an impish grin. Hermione rolled her eyes with a smirk.

"They don't seem too chuffed to see us," Harry muttered through a fixed smile, as he waved to them. They did not return the wave.

"Yes, well," Hermione both waving and simultaneously walking briskly towards the train, "Let's get a compartment, shall we?"

Harry didn't need a Veritastone to know that Hermione was hiding something – more specifically, had been hiding certain things for quite a long time. He had a feeling her parents had finally dragged some details out of Hermione, pertaining to exactly what went on at Hogwarts...perhaps they'd finally started reading the Daily Prophet, or had heard second-hand what had happened at the Ministry last year

The train ride itself was rather uneventful, and the trio spent it with Ginny, Neville, and Luna. There were fewer students on the train, since many had stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays, their parents feeling that the school was the last bastion of security in the wizarding world. The Prophet certainly didn't help to assuage these suspicions, as they continued to document the decay of security at the Ministry of Magic. Luna's copy of the Quibbler even went so far as to suggest that militant goblin activists working with You Know Who himself had organized a private hit squad, determined to assassinate Cornelius Fudge.

"He wouldn't need them," Harry thought, chuckling to himself non-humorously, "If Lucius Malfoy can walk in there any time he pleases."

A quick ride in a thestral-drawn carriage later, Harry was again inhaling the scent of home, this time made even crisper and cleaner by the scent of snow and woodsmokeâ€probably from Hagrid's cabin, or maybe even carried from the common room fires by a vagrant, chilly gust of wind, whistling briskly over the ancient slate shingles.

"Home," Harry thought, with a swelling of affection.

His scar prickled slightly, and Harry though he detected a note of loathing, or something that felt a bit like pride. But he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and simultaneously closed the doors of his mind. He didn't want to let anything spoil this moment.

"Good to be back, eh?" Ron asked, noting his expression.

"You know, we only have another year and half left here," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Bite your tongue!" Ron said, looking scandalized.

"I'm just saying, we should probably start thinking about what we want to do Iafter/I Hogwarts, is all," Hermione said, "And _you_ had better start studying your Potions, if you want to make Auror!"

But Hermione dropped it, seeming to realize that the idea of leaving Hogwarts put a wave of unease into Harry's heart, almost like a slight nausea.

To Harry's great discomfort, their first day of classes was just as hard as always. The professors were not inclined to go easy on them in the slightest – in fact, they seemed oblivious to the fact that most of them had just spent a couple weeks lounging about eating sweets and sleeping in, assuming instead that they had been rising at dawn to sneak in some extra studying (which was only true in Hermione's case). Binns continued to plow through the same notes he'd written forty or fifty years ago, at the same ponderous rate. Snape was especially unfair, looming over their cauldrons, and snapping irritably at the slightest noise.

"Wonder what's got into him?" Ron breathed, while Snape was busy ridiculing another student for not knowing the difference between "clockwise" and "counterclockwise."

Harry didn't reply. Could it be that Snape was still upset about Harry having discovered his secret? Probably. But this didn't seem like Snape's usual quiet loathing – he seemed distinctly angry, like something bad had _just_ happened.

Harry shuddered as he realized he was getting _good _at reading Snape.

It was at lunch, however, that Harry got his first real shock of the day. They had all sat down to eat, Ron muttering viciously about his potion, which Snape had Evanesced.

"It wasn't that bad, really," Hermione was saying soothingly, "You only forgot the—"

"Hermoninny," said a gruff, yet warm basso voice.

Harry sputtered a bit on his pumpkin juice, and looked up to see—

"Viktor!" Hermione shrieked happily, leaping up from her spot on the bench, and throwing her arms around his neck, "How are you?! I never expected to see you –"

"Didn't you graduate?" Ron asked, bluntly, clearly a bit disgruntled at the warmth of Hermione's greeting, or possibly by the soppy look on Krum's normally scowling face.

"Charlie Veasel. He vorks with the dragons in Romania. He comes to me, and tells me, 'Come to England,' for..."

Krum looked over and Ron and Harry, and censored himself awkwardly.

"For to visit."

"Well, yes, you'd written that you might come to England," Hermione said, her face having lit up, "But I never expected to see you here at Hogwarts!"

"I vanted to see you," he said, his stark features rendered almost comical by the sappy smile on his face.

"Besides vich," he continued, his expression darkening a bit, "It seems Hogwarts is vere –"

"Don't suppose you'd care to say hello to us, then?" Ron asked, abruptly.

Hermione tsk'd, and rolled her eyes, but Krum's usual scowl returned, and he nodded sternly at Ron, and Harry in turn.

"Hullo," he said, in his usual dull voice.

"Hello, Viktor," Harry said, still recovering from his shock, "Pleasant trip?" The last time he'd seen Viktor had been at the Triwizard Tournament, and seeing him standing here at Hogwarts again was bringing other things rushing back...things like Cedric Diggory. Things like—

"Don't think about that," he automatically told himself again.

But it was not only this that was bothering him. He'd known Hermione had been keeping in touch with Viktor casually, via owl, but he wasn't sure he liked this recent development any more than Ron did.

But to come all this way to say "hello?" What was Krum really doing in England? And moreover, what was he doing at Hogwarts?

"Yah, it vas fine," he replied abruptly, "Hermoninny, vould you valk vit me?"

"Yeah, Hermoninny," Ron said sarcastically, "Why don't you take a valk?"

Hermione eyed him sternly, but something in her seemed to melt.

"I'm sorry, Viktor," she said, putting a hand on Viktor's bulging bicep, and smiling gently, "But we're all headed for class fairly soon. Maybe after classes end today."

Looking fairly put out, Krum scowled so that his eyebrows resembled nothing so much as too very furry black caterpillars kissing.

"Yah," he said, "Perhaps ve study in the library."

Again, his stony expression was broken by a warm smile, and he closed the distance between them a bit. "It is good to see you, Hermoninny."

Harry thought he detected a nearly imperceptible tic in Hermione's right eye, as he butchered her name yet again .

"Yes," she said, with a firm smile, "Good to see you too, Viktor."

He leaned in to give her a kiss, but she angled her head at the last minute, so that he got stuck with her cheek. She quickly turned her head about, and gave the air at his other cheek a perfunctory peck.

Clearly having expected a real kiss, Viktor nodded curtly at Ron and Hermione, and stalked off in his duck-footed walk, scowling.

"So, IVicky's/I back in town," Ron said, jabbing at his pork chop, "Really, Hermione, we know you're excited to see each other, but did you have to make out at the table?"

Supremely unperturbed, Hermione reached for a roll. "It's just polite, Ron...it's like a handshake, on the continent."

Harry was a bit surprised – the subject of Viktor Krum had always been a hot topic for Ron, but equally so for Hermione...why did she seem so calm?

"'Like a _handshake,'_" Ron repeated, "'_On the continent'_... Honestly! You'll excuse me, Harry, if I don't snog you every time we bump into each other"

Hermione giggled, and despite his grouchy expression, Harry caught Ron sneaking a small smirk of triumph at having made her laugh.

"What's Krum doing here anyway?" Harry asked, with a bit more irritation than he'd expected.

"Wrong question, Harry," Hermione said, "The real question is, what was Charlie doing in Romania?"

"Hey, yeah," Ron said, something dawning on him, "And Bill's not back yet either"

Firenze was no less hard on them in Divination. It seemed the holidays had not lightened his mood in the slightest.

"We approach now, a crossroads that the centaurs have been mapping for centuries," he intoned, "The cycle of time is as the cycle of life. The dying pangs of one era are the labor pains of the new – it is a time of uncertainty, darkness, of struggle, and deep pain, that both cleanses and scars...it is a trial by fire," he said, sprinkling some pungent herbs into the small fire on the faux-forest floor in front of him, which wafted sage-y smoke up into the night sky, "A fire which burns away the parts of us that are unecessary, stripping us down to our essential core...a fire which burns red in the sky...Mars draws nearer, and burns ever brighter...we die, and are born, in the fire"

"Bet he played with matches when he was a colt," Ron muttered to Harry, who stifled his laughter. Harry knew, with a slightly guilty tug, that he should be paying more attention to Firenze. But he'd heard so much doomsaying in his short wizarding career, that he was pretty much immune to it by now.

"So what d'you reckon Vicky's after?" Ron muttered darkly.

"You mean besides the obvious?" Harry asked, mischievously out of the corner of his mouth, earning a punch on his shoulder from Ron.

Parvati shushed them quietly from her place in front of them.

"Honestly?" Harry whispered, "I think he's here for the Order. Whether he knows it or not. Sounds like your brother recruited him...I dunno, or maybe Hermione did, through her letters...I don't think she'd mention the Order by name, though, it's not safe. Either way, he's definitely here on official business of some sort. I don't think he'd drop the Quidditch season just to come see Hermione."

"I dunno," Ron said, darkly, "He just might. Git."

But Parvati shushed them again, and they fell silent, paying attention to Firenze through to the end of the lesson.

"Harry Potter," Firenze said, as they were leaving at the end of class.

"Yes?" he asked, as Ron was forced to wait in the doorway for him yet again.

"You understood what I said today, did you not?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Mars is getting brighter – trial by fire...yes."

Firenze eyed him dubiously, "About the cycle of life and death?"

"Yep. Got it," Harry said, feeling annoyed. If Firenze insisted on talking in broad metaphors, he wasn't going to have patience for any more gloom and doom.

Firenze seemed to think for a moment, then nodded, looking a bit downcast.

"You may go."

"Man, what's got into him?" Ron asked, as they walked to Defense.

"I dunno," Harry said, annoyed, "All I know is, if I hear any more bad news, I'm going to plug up my ears and sing 'God Save the Queen.'"

"They found Madame Bones," Hermione said sadly, as they entered the Defense classroom. She had been waiting for them by the door.

Ron turned to Harry, a glum expression on his face.

"Hope you can carry a tune."


	44. Chapter Forty Four

"Where? How?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing, "Wouldn't they have reported it in the Daily Prophet?"

"They want to make sure all her family know, I think," Hermione said, sadly, "Plus..."

She scanned the room nervously.

"We shouldn't talk here."

"Settle down, class," Lupin called wearily, as he entered the room from his office. He looked particularly haggard, the circles under his eyes so purple, it seemed almost as though he had two black eyes.

"Push the desks aside," he said sternly, "Today, I want to see you practicing your stunning."

"Stunning?" Dean Thomas said, his surprise involuntary, "That's, like, second-year stuff..."

"I didn't ask for commentary, Mr. Thomas. Think of it as a drill," Lupin said, his voice unusually terse.

The class quieted considerably. Lupin tended to be extremely patient. What on Earth was going on? He was acting almost like...

"Like Snape," Harry realized, with a start, "Well, not exactly...but...something's upsetting him...something recent. Ms. Bones, maybe?"

Lupin spent the first section of the class making sure they all could perform an adequate stunning spell.

"Good, very good," he said, a bit of his usual warmth returning to his smile, "I can see you've all been...er...studying hard."

He winked at Harry, and the class chuckled appreciatively. Despite his embarrassment, Harry felt a small surge of pride. The D.A. really was doing quite well. To have an entire class of students able to produce a Patronus (even if they weren't all corporeal) well, that was saying something.

"Now remember, you don't need to have your wand aimed when saying the spell," Lupin reminded sternly, "Just so long as you have it aimed Iby the end/I of the spell. That ought to help you be a bit faster on the uptake. Let's work on our aim, shall we?"

Harry shifted nervously. They were supposed to be working on the Confundus Charm...he'd asked them to study it over break, hinting that there'd be a quiz on it when they returned. Why all the review, then?

"Now, I have to ask you," he said, with a wry smile, "to please not use this charm outside of our classroom here – Mr. Filch would be after my blood if he knew I was teaching you this. It's called the Pictus charm, and all it does is simply send a blotch of paint out the end of your wand. For example..."

He flicked his wand, and the large, roll-down map of England came rattling down over the chalkboard, to reveal a hastily drawn target painted on a sheet of paper.

"_Pictus verto!" _Lupin shouted, as he whipped his wand into place, and a small splotch of green paint shot out the end of it, and splattered neatly near the center of the bulls eye.

"Cool!" effused Seamus, taking out his own wand excitedly.

"Now please, _please_ use this charm responsibly?" Lupin said, grimmacing. The class laughed appreciatively. "Alright, who's up first?"

Hermione walked casually to the back of the line where Ron and Harry were waiting their turn.

"Anyone else think this is fishy?" she whispered quietly.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, it's fun!" Ron said.

"It's target practice, Ron," she whispered, even more quietly.

"So, that's part of Defense, isn't it?" Harry countered, but he couldn't help but agree...something was nagging inside him. Why would they be having target practice? If Fudge had accused the D.A. of _actually_ being an army, this felt even more...military.

"It's like training," Hermione said, confirming Harry's uneasy suspicions.

"Training for what?" Ron asked, nervously.

"Mr. Weasley!" Lupin said, beckoning cheerfully for him to take his turn, over the class's laughter. Multi-colored splotches of paint now covered the makeshift target.

Ron unsheathed his wand, and cried, "_Pictus rosso!"_

A flowery shade of pink paint splattered at the outermost ring of the target. The class burst out laughing.

"_Pink?!" _roared Seamus, and Ron went a brilliant shade of scarlet to match.

"I was aiming for red," he muttered.

"Were you aiming for the target?" ribbed Parvati, and the class laughed anew. Even Harry found himself laughing a bit.

"Come on, Hermione," he muttered, "There's no sense in worrying about it right now. There's nothing we can do."

Hermione didn't reply, but bit her lip worriedly.

"That was a good first effort, Mr. Weasley," Lupin said, clearly trying not to laugh himself, "Just need a bit more coordination...get the wand out of your pocket first, and then start the spell, but not too late, or you'll lose time. Also, a little more 's' on 'rosso,' or, well...you see what happened."

Ron's second attempt was much better. He had slowed down a bit, but his paint blotch was, in fact, red, and he'd even managed to get nearer to the center of the bulls eye.

"Good work!" Lupin said, "Much better. Bit slower, but still, greatly improved. Harry?"

They all took turns at target practice until Lupin was satisfied. They had just enough time to return the desks, and pass forward their homework on the Confundus charm, before class eneded.

"Keep practicing your aim!" Lupin reminded them, "And there may or may not be a pop quiz on the Confundus next meeting, so you may or may not want to study," he added with a twinkle in his eye. His mood seemed considerably improved. Harry reflected that teaching was probably one of the only things that lightened Lupin's days, especially now that Sirius was gone, and the Order was facing so much difficulty.

They waited for him after class without needing to be asked – it had become a sort of ritual for the trio to hang back, either to talk in hushed tones about the Order with Lupin, or just to exchange how their days had been going. Plus, Harry realized with an acid stomach, that he was going to have to trudge every painful step down to the Potions dungeon and take his lumps in Occlumency – and Snape had looked especially nasty today.

Lupin sighed wearily.

"I've got Order of Merlin," he said, sounding thoroughly displeased about it.

"What?!" Ron cried, aloud.

"Third class," Lupin said, as though this were the least important thing in the world, "For finding Ms. Bones."

"Oh," Ron said, his voice considerably less elated, "So that's what you did over holidays."

"And some other stuff," Lupin said cryptically, "You know I can't tell you."

"What happened?" Harry asked, gently.

"I found her," Lupin said, repressively.

"They wouldn't give you Order of Merlin for just that," Ron said, confusedly, "Ow!" For Hermione had trod on his foot.

"No, you're quite right, Ron," Lupin said, his voice tinged with bitterness, "It takes a real act of heroism to earn yourself a Merlin, Third Class." He seemed to want to keep going, but sighed.

"Tell us, Mooney," Harry urged again, quietly. He felt Lupin was becoming more and more of a friend and less and less of a parental figure.

"Well, some Death Eaters were holding her," Lupin said, "I managed to track them down."

Hermione made a strangled noise of alarm, and her eyes popped open.

Lupin shrugged, "The Order's been working on it all year, Hermione. We were bound to get lucky at some point. I got a lead from...well, I got a lead, and it turned out to be correct."

"Who'd you—" Ron began, but Harry interrupted him, sensing that Lupin was clearly not going to tell them.

"And?"

Lupin sighed very deeply and didn't speak for a moment. "She was under the Imperius, I think. Or something else, maybe. It was hard to say. Her eyes...it wasn't even really her, anymore. Once they figured out I was on their tail, they just..."

He paused again.

"They disposed of her."

Harry's heart sank. Lupin had seen enough these past couple years – it wasn't fair that he should keep having to be hit with bad news like this. He reflected idly that he could probably say the same for himself, or for anyone in the Order for that matter, even for his friends.

"I don't get it," Ron said, "They went through all the effort of kidnapping her just to kill her?"

"She'd outlived her usefulness," Lupin said, his anger clear in his voice, "They'd solved the Dementor issue, but if she was going to push for capital punishment...Well, now they've solved that as well. Getting her out of the Wizengamot was the real objective in the first place. They probably kept her alive just to interrogate her, kept her under the Imperius in case she might come in handy. I don't know – maybe they were even planning on sending her back to the Ministry with private orders from Lord Voldemort."

Harry felt, rather than heard Ron's sudden intake of breath. At least he didn't whimper as he used to. Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

"Once the fighting started—"

"Fighting?" Ron asked, incredulously, but Hermione shushed him. Lupin continued unabated.

"She proved a liability...and they just...extinguished her," he said simply, "Left her body, and Apparated. No idea where. Didn't even have time to conjure the Dark Mark."

"It sounds," Hermione said, after a brief quiet, "Like you were really brave."

Lupin snorted. "Brave. Doesn't matter how brave it was, now...The only decent lead we've had in months, wasted. They both got away, and Madame Bones is dead. I can't even look at the ruddy thing."

Harry had something else to ask, however, and while he felt like a bit of a heel, Lupin's defenses would be a bit low right now...

"Speaking of fighting," he said tentatively, "What were we doing in lessons today?"

"Target practice," Lupin said bluntly. It was clear from his tone of voice that he had no intention of elaborating, and had probably already answered more questions that he wanted to. Harry opened his mouth to ask again, but Lupin smoothly turned to the board, and began Evanescing the paint that had spattered from stray Pictus spells, and Hermione made eye contact with Harry and shook her head warningly.

"How was Divination?" Lupin asked, turning away from the chalkboard.

"Oh. That," Ron said, lightly, "Usual nonsense."

He adopted a mock-prophetic voice, "'You are all doooomed! We are born and die in the fire...' Remind me to bring some marshmallows."

Hermione elbowed him sharply.

"Owch! _Will_ you stop that? Come on, Hermione, you've always said Divination is a bit woolly."

"Give Firenze a break," Lupin said tersely, "He's had a rough holiday as well...he doesn't need us having a go at him behind his back. Or...above it, or...you know what I mean."

"Sorry," Ron said, promptly and meekly. He gave Harry a flash of the eyebrows, as though to say, "What's up with this?" but Harry just shrugged.

"Aren't you late for Occlumency, Harry?" Lupin asked.

"I will be if I don't leave soon."

"Why haven't you then?" Hermione asked, sternly.

"Working up the nerve," Harry muttered.

"You'll be alright," Lupin said, a note of comfort returning to his unusually sharp demeanor, "Professor Snape has other things on his mind to distract him. Just don't give him any cheek, and you'll be out of there in an hour or so."

"Right."

Harry stood to go, shoulder his school bag, and sighing resolutely. But before he made it to the door.

"Err..." Lupin said, haltingly, "Listen, you three. Just...be careful, will you? And keep your ears to the ground?"

"Alright," Ron said in a rather loud voice, leaping irritatedly down from his seat on the desk, "You can't say things like that and expect us to—"

"Ron, please..." Lupin said, and it was the desperate look in his eyes, and the defeated slump of his posture that quieted Ron and made them all take notice.

"I know we tell you to be careful all the time," Lupin said, "I know...it's Ialways/I dangerous. But please...just tell me you will be careful. Even if you have no intention of doing it. Just tell me you will."

"Of course we will," Hermione said, with a comforting, matter of fact nod.

Lupin smiled.

"Alright. Off with you, I've got extra help with the first years today, and I want to give them my undivided attention."

Indeed, as Harry left, he saw a nervous looking Arthur Aaronson slouched near the door, while Electra Bellanova examined her nails coolly, her other hand on her hip. She met Harry's eyes briefly, and nodded once. Harry was pretty sure he knew what she was communicating...she could sense it too. An ill wind was blowing through the Hogwarts corridors, and it seemed to put everyone at unease. They both shouldered their bags and entered the classroom, just as Broderick Johnson and Etta Edgecombe came hurrying down the hall after them.

"Harry," began Hermione nervously, "What do you think—"

"I can't," Harry said, despondently, "Got to clear my mind."

"Oh...sorry," she said, clearly upset by his own preoccupied, sullen mood, "Can we—"

"Yeah," finished Ron, "Common room?"

Harry nodded. He didn't think talking about it would be much help – they knew as much as he did.

"See you then," Hermione said, her expression pained with concern.

Harry tried to smile reassuringly at her, and was glad to see the wrinkle in Hermione's forehead, which he had thought would become a permanent fixture, release slightly.


	45. Chapter FortyFive

Harry entered the Potions dungeon, and resolutely went over to Snape's office. The door was open, and he let himself in out of habit, to find Snape grading some papers. He had a vague smirk pasted on his sallow mug. Harry reflected that the papers were probably quite awful, and Snape was having a grand old time practicing his cursive "D's."

"Ah," Snape said silkily as he put down his quill, and Harry almost immediately sensed him poking about his mind, as though he were scanning a magazine cover, "I trust you had a pleasant holiday, Mr. Potter."

"It was fine," Harry said, guardedly. Snape was making him nervous the way he was sniffing about...most likely trying to find out whether he'd told anyone he was a half-vampire – or more importantly, that he'd killed someone. His face clouded over slightly.

"You told someone," he said sourly, "Couldn't resist tattling to your little fan club—"

"Only Remus," Harry said, defensively, "And I wasn't tattling, he figured it out."

Snape squinted doubtfully.

"Go ahead and look," Harry thought viciously, "I'm not hiding anything."

"Hmmph," Snape muttered, and Harry knew from years of experience that it meant he could find nothing to complain about. He turned his back on Harry abruptly, and strode into his office, Harry following wearily out of habit. He wasn't looking forward to today's lesson, not by any stretch of the imagination.

After Harry had shuffled into the room as slowly as he dared, Snape flicked his wand at the door.

"Ferma. Impeterbatus," he said, matter-of-factly, then seated himself behind his desk, eyeing Potter with a look of strong distaste.

Harry let the minutes tick on. He didn't care if Snape wanted to sit here and wait out the whole lesson. He'd learned his – from now on, he was going to keep his questions to himself.

"What did the werewolf tell you?" Snape asked suddenly, his eyes cold.

"Nothing," Harry said, "Just that you were a half-vampire. He gave me a book to read."

"Bloodlines, no doubt," Snape snorted, "Rubbish."

Harry was momentarily tickled by the idea that Snape and Lupin actually agreed on something.

"I know," Harry said, "A lot of it's nonsense. But it was helpful anyway."

"Listen to me when I say this, Potter," Snape said, his cold eyes glinting dangerously with a sudden and suppressed fury, "Don't presume to 'understand' me. It is in no way a requirement of our Occlumency lessons, and furthermore, it's arrogant. To think that you've been reading up on me, as though I was the subject of one of your essays."

"Sorry," Harry said, his dander rising, "I didn't know reading was a crime."

"Mind your attitude," Snape hissed, and Harry bit his tongue.

There was another lengthy pause, in which Harry forced himself to count the jars on Snape's shelf, mentally chanting, "Keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut..."

"He didn't die. In case you were wondering. He survived."

Harry felt only a slight sense of relief – he hardly thought this mattered, seeing how he could just have easily _not_ survived.

"We always kept a rather large stash of blood-replenishing tablets in our home – forgive me...our house," he corrected, and Harry detected a slight darkening of his expression, "for obvious reasons."

"Yeah," Harry thought, "In case you went mental and starting leeching off family members."

Snape's expression darkened, and his voice became curt again.

"If you had been paying attention in class, Potter, you would know that the Blood-Replenishing Tablet is not only a miraculous medical advancement, it is a great aid to vampires and half-vampires, essentially, eliminating the necessity of feeding for survival."

"So why don't all vampires use it?"

Snape shifted uncomfortably, and Harry noticed the by-now-familiar dart of Snape's eyes...down and to the right.

"The tablets eliminate the need, Potter...not the desire." Harry felt, more than witnessed Snape suppressing a shudder.

"So why aren't all these vampires in Azkaban, then, if they keep offing people?" Harry asked, irritably, "And don't give me some nonsense about 'the Ministry doesn't give a damn.'"

It was clammy and stuffy in Snape's dungeon, and he was tired of the "poor Snape" show. He wanted to go back to a time when things were less complicated. When Snape was just a greasy old git and he could hate him quietly and comfortably...when He, Ron, and Hermione were a trio of best friends instead of this new awkward, lop-sided thing. When Lupin didn't mutter darkly after lessons, when he didn't have to worry about some great evil lurking inside himself, and it seemed impossible that his best friends could ever die.

"Again, if you had thoroughly studied, you would know that vampires are by nature skilled in Legilimency and Occlumeny, Potter," Snape said, and Harry noticed an arrogant smirk creeping beneath Snape's hooked nose, "They are far more likely to ensnare their prey through subtle means of persuasion."

Harry shuddered. The thought of Snape persuading anybody to let him take a bite out of their neck was more nauseating than terrifying. Snape seemed to sense Harry's instinctive reaction, and scowled even more furiously.

"You do not think me capable, Potter?" he hissed quietly, "Yes...you see me much as your father did – some overgrown, greasy bat, swooping about the castle, whose sole delight is making your life miserable...No, don't deny it. Neither of you could ever hope to understand."

"So why don't you just explain it, then?" Harry said, growing even more irritable. His scar was prickling vaguely.

"I am a _predator_, Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, "It is my birthright."

And to Harry's discomfort, he saw a light gleaming in Snape's eyes he only seen once before – when he had cornered Sirius and Lupin in the Shrieking Shack.

"But I am a hunter who can not hunt. I am _denied _my prey, Mr. Potter. Or more specifically, I deny my prey. I _choose _to master my baser instincts rather than allowing them to master me. Discipline. It is a trait, I fear," Snape laughed derisively, "That neither you, James Potter, nor Sirius Black possesses. _Possessed_, rather."

Harry felt his blood boiling, and he wondered briefly if Snape could sense it too – hot and angry, throbbing through his temple. Snape was nearly on top of Harry, now. His beaky nose was in danger of colliding with Harry's at any moment. Harry looked at the dangerous gleam in his eyes, and knew instinctively that if Snape wanted to, he could open his mouth wide, let his pupils roll back into his head like a shark's, and plunge his teeth into his neck. Harry swallowed and was made painfully aware of his voice box, the ligaments connecting to his jaw, the throb of his jugular...Snape narrowed his dangerous eyes.

"But do not think that because this 'old bat' does not bite...that he does not have _teeth, _Mr. Potter. _Legilimens!"_

Snape had given no warning, and this was a particularly powerful attack. Harry mind was a blur as he raced through images. He hardly rested in one place long enough to get his bearings.

He was up in a tree – Marge and the Durlseys were laughing...

Ron was shyly giving Harry a chocolate frog as Hermione stared awestruck at her present...

Ginny was lying cold as ice in the Chamber, the journal lying just out of reach of her pale fingers...

Sirius was falling in a graceful arc...

"Stop," Harry thought, desperately, "_Protego!"_

But there was a great surge of pain in Harry's scar, and Harry thought he heard Snape's voice catch, and cry out sharply as well.

There was a crackling noise, and the smell of smoke lingered in Harry's nostrils – smoke, and putrid, garlicky, sulphuric smell. All around him, the walls of Hogwarts were flickering orange, but not from torchlight – no, the fire was as bright and as brilliant as phoenix flame. Students were running, shrieking, bits of masonry exploding near them, as multi-coloured jets of light exploded into the walls.

"No!"

Harry forcibly shut his mind. The scar immediately ceased hurting. Somewhere, dimly, he thought he heard Snape gasp slightly, and the scrape of the wood against stone which meant he'd either sunk onto a chair, or was leaning on his desk.

But Harry did not return to Snape's office immediately...rather, he saw the corridor _in _Snape's office – like two films being projected at once.

Ron's dead body was lying on the floor, staring up at him with lifeless blue eyes.

"_NOOOOO!"_

Harry forcibly jerked himself back to reality, forced himself to focus on Snape, panting as he leaned backwards onto his desk with a horrorstruck expression.

The door to the Potion Master's office banged open on its hinges to reveal Sybil Trelawney, her hair standing wildly up at ends, her eyes magnified in her round spectacles as she stared straight ahead, her hands clenched into loose fists at her sides.

"Sybil?" Snape asked, unable to mask his incredulity, "What in Merlin's name possessed you to –"

But slowly, horribly, she directed her unseeing gaze to Harry. She took a deep, rattling breath, and in a harsh, horribly familiar voice, began to speak:

**_"THE SECOND GREAT WAR BEGINS AT THE DEATH OF THE THIRD MONTH – THE DARK LORD DRAWS NIGH – AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER. BEHOLD THE CONFLAGRATION, THE DEATH, THE BIRTH – THE GREAT DIVIDE! IT BEGINS AND ENDS IN THE ASHES! THE SECOND GREAT WAR BEGINS AT THE DEATH OF THE THIRD MONTH."_**

Sybill drew another hoarse, rattling breath, and then, suddenly, sneezed mousily.

"Oh," she said feebly, reaching into the folds of her flowing robes for a small purple handkerchief, "Do forgive me...Must be coming down with something."

She stopped herself suddenly, and blinked owlishly at Snape and Harry.

"What are _you_ two doing up here?" she asked, all the mistiness evaporated from her voice.

"I think, Sybill, that I will take it from here," came Dumbledore's serene voice, and everyone jumped as he appeared in the doorway, Professor McGonagall close behind, pinching in an expression of utter shock.


	46. Chapter Forty Six

"And you're saying that you saw this as well, Severus?" Lupin said, rubbing his eyes wearily.

Harry found himself seated, yet again, in a squashy purple armchair in Dumbledore's office. At least this time, however, he had company – while Professor Dumbledore was in his usual spot behind his desk, Professor McGonagall stood to his right, while Lupin leaned against a bookshelf, and Snape lurked in the corner, glaring at Harry.

"Yes," he said, still eyeing Harry distastefully, as though he'd been caught breaking school rules yet again.

"Right," Harry thought ironically, "Rule number 372: No prophetic visions during class time."

"But the vision ended with Hogwarts burning, and the curses flying back and forth?"

"NO!" Harry insisted. How could they keep ignoring this?

"Harry, I was asking Professor Snape," Lupin said, wearily, "We know what you saw."

"That's correct," Snape said, still sneering at Harry moodily, "The pain immediately subsided, and the visions ended. I did _not_ see Mr. Weasley."

"I know he didn't!" Harry said hotly, "Because we'd already broken the connection by then! Professor Dumbledore, you have to—"

"We are taking this very seriously, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said patiently, "No one wants to see Mr. Weasley get hurt."

Almost against his will, Harry's eyes flicked none-too-subtly over to Snape, and down to the floor. Snape merely snorted, and turned away.

Dumbledore folded his long fingers, and leaned back, as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"And you say your scar began to hurt before Professor Snape attempted to enter your mind?"

"Yes," Harry said, remembering, "It was already stinging before that."

"Well, I see no cause for alarm at present," Dumbledore said, and Professor McGonagall's eyebrows flashed upwards in disbelief, "I believe that Snape accessed Harry's mind at a time when Lord Voldemort was already trying to access it. When Harry used Protego, both Harry and Snape actually glimpsed a bit of the Dark Lord's plans. This may actually work to our advantage."

"No cause for alarm!" chuffed Professor McGonagall, "No, certainly not!"

"The Order was expecting something along these lines, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently, "And has been making preliminary preparations...With the Ministry in his pocket and the Dementors and Giants under his wing, it was only a matter of time before Voldemort tried to take Hogwarts."

"But surely," Professor McGonagall sputtered, "He wouldn't dare, Albus. Not with you here."

"I am only one man, Minvera," Dumbledore said quietly, "And as I've told you before, Voldemort has powers I will never have."

"And as I've told you before," she rejoindered, "That is only because you are too noble to use them!"

"I agree with Professor Dumbledore," Lupin said quietly, "They've broken into Gringotts, they've broken out of Azkaban, they've manipulated and infiltrated the Ministry...Hogwarts is the last stronghold in the wizarding world. He's definitely coming."

"Severus?" Professor McGonagall asked, as though appealing for an opinion.

Harry wasn't quite sure what she meant by the question, or why she needed Snape's opinion. He was still lurking in the corner with his arms folded across his chest, looking at the floor. He seemed to be thinking. After a brief pause, he simply nodded once, and looked away.

"Well," Professor McGonagall said with a hopeless air about her, "What are we going to do? The students will have to be sent home!"

"WHAT?!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall barked.

"Harry, sit. Minerva, compose yourself," Dumbledore said with an almost irritating calm, "As I've said, I see no cause for alarm. As Professor Trelawney's most recent prophecy reveals –"

Snape snorted from the corner of the room, but Dumbledore continued as though he hadn't heard.

"We have until 'the third month' to prepare – which I'm assuming, refers to March. We will simply need to step up our preparations. As for sending the students home, absolutely not. Hogwarts is meant to prepare these students for the rest of their lives as witches and wizards. And in times like these," Dumbledore said firmly, "Knowledge truly is power. To close our doors and send tomorrow's witches and wizards out into the world unprepared, and unable to defend themselves would be doing Lord Voldemort a favor. As Professor Lupin kindly pointed out, Hogwarts is, essentially, our last and only stronghold."

Harry stood slowly, earning an eyebrow flash from Professor McGonagall, a sneer from Snape, and a worried scowl from Professor Lupin.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said, in the same pleasant, brisk tone.

"I want to help."

"Absolutely –"

"Listen," Harry said, interrupting Professor McGonagall as gently as he could, "Just...listen."

"Ron, Hermione and I have fought Lord Voldemort or his Death Eaters every year for the past five and a half years," Harry said simply, "And I'm tired of being left out of the loop."

"I can see where this is going," Professor McGonagall said, bristling.

"I'm not going to ask to join the Order," Harry said, and he was again rewarded as Professor McGonagall's eyebrows crept even closer to her forehead, "Because I know you'll say no. But I want to help. And so will Ron and Hermione. And to be frank," he said, picking up steam as something bubbled up from deep within him, "So will Ginny, and Neville, and Luna, and Dean, and every single student here. Because...because it's not just a school. Because it's our home. And we deserve a chance to defend it."

"Mr. Potter, just because we are encouraging you to learn to defend yourselves doesn't mean that we intend for you to—"

"Don't you _get_ it?!" he burst out, angrily. His eyes met Dumbledore's, and his scar started to twinge again. He felt another burst of anger, this time not his own.

He took a slow, deep breath, and with a conscious effort, closed his mind. The tingling immediately stopped, and all that was left was a calm quiet.

"It has to be me."

The air seemed to grow heavier. He didn't need to explain – they all knew what he was referring to. Harry felt the same swimming light-headedness every time he tried to speak about the Prophecy, but where before there had been anger, fear, desperation, and resentment, there was now only the clear knowledge of what had to be done.

"In the end, no matter what the students do, or the Ministry, or even the Order...it comes down to me. It does every year, and it will every year until it's finally done."

He felt his voice shaking slightly, and he noticed that while he was carefully not looking at anyone, nobody was looking at him, either.

"I just want it to end. I want it to be over. The Order is going to do what it has to do. But the other students can't just going to sit idly by and wait to be attacked, and neither can I."

He finally looked up to meet Professor Dumbledore's eye.

"He's already taken enough from me," he said quietly, "He's _not_ getting Hogwarts. Voldemort is mine."

For a while, nobody said anything. Harry thought he saw Dumbledore give him a strange look, but it was such a brief flicker, that he told himself he was probably imagining things.

"Very well," he finally said, in a slightly hoarse voice, "We will need to discuss what we've seen here tonight with the rest of the Order. We will send instructions to you via owl in the morning. Does anyone have anything else to say?"

"Are you keeping up with the D.A.?" Lupin asked quietly.

"Yes," Harry said, "First meeting since we got back is this weekend."

Lupin nodded, "Good. Focus on the upperclassmen especially, Harry, I've got my hands full with the first through third years."

Harry simply nodded.

"I think that's all for now," Dumbledore said, standing, "We shall need to call an emergency meeting of the Order, to fill everyone in on recent developments, and discuss accelerating our strategy."

He glanced at Harry at this, and Harry reflected he was probably going to discuss with the Order exactly how he and the students should be involved, and how much they should know. He felt a small surge of annoyance, however irrational, that they would yet again be discussing him behind his back. He knew it was somewhat petty – they'd have to discuss it, of course. But he didn't have to like it.

Discuss it...how much they should know...

Ron and Hermione! He had to tell them, now.

"I'll see you out, Harry," Lupin said, as he led Harry to the stone staircase.

They said nothing as the stairs revolved and sank, Dumbledore's office slowly disappearing from view. The realization that had been quietly nagging at the back of Harry's mind grew larger and more insistent. He hadn't had time to think about all the ramifications of the second part of the Prophecy, having just witnessed it and reported it, and being far more concerned about Ron than himself. But now, the full meaning of it hit home.

The third month... "And one must die by the other's hand..."

The culminating line of the prophecy was going to be fulfilled at Hogwarts, in March. It seemed so close. In roughly two months, he would either be a murderer or...

"Cease to exist," Harry thought, the very idea seeming ludicrous. Everything he knew would come to an end, immediately, in a burst of cold, green light. No more common room. No more Quidditch. Not even any Dursleys. For about the millionth time that summer, he found himself questioning what life after death might be like. Would it hurt? Where would he go? Would he see Sirius and his parents again?

"Harry," Lupin said softly. His voice was tender, but Harry could see the strain on his face.

Harry shook his head "no," and looked away, and Lupin said nothing else as the stone staircase continued to spiral downwards, and eventually ground to a halt. There was nothing Lupin could say to make it better, and there was nothing Harry wanted to hear. In fact, as much as he loved Lupin, there were only two people he wanted to be with right now.

"Take care, Harry," Lupin said, placing a hand timidly on Harry's shoulder, "Send me an owl, maybe."

Harry nodded, and tried to smile reassuringly but his neck and jaw didn't seem to be working properly, and his head just jerked oddly. He turned, and walked back to the common room, breaking into a trot, as he got further and further from Dumbledore's office.

He reached the portrait hole panting, to find the Fat Lady was asleep, her chins quivering slightly as she snored stentorously. He still couldn't find his voice to wake her, however, so he slammed his hands desperately into the frame of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"OH!" she shrieked, "Good heavens! What do you mean, thumping about like that? I was sound asleep!"

Harry still couldn't speak, so he merely panted for a moment, his hands hanging by his sides.

The Fat Lady eyed him strangely. "Are you alright, dear? I can't let you in without the password, you know that."

"Mm," Harry muttered, finding his voice, "Mim. Mimble."

The Fat Lady continued to gawk at him, an expression of mixed concern and curiosity on her pudgy face.

"Alright, love, that'll do."

The portrait swung open, and Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards her – she'd always been a stickler for the rules, but it appeared she was finally cutting him a bit of slack. He entered the common room to find Neville laughing shyly as he, Dean, and Seamus played a game of Exploding Snap. Ginny was curled up on the sofa with one of Ron's Marvin the Mad Muggle comics.

Harry would later reflect that it was odd for Neville to be up this late. He was social enough, yes, but in his own quiet way. By this point at night, he'd usually retreated to the quiet of his bed hangings, to study a bit, or get an early night.

"Harry," Ginny said, her face lighting up, "How are you?"

Her expression immediately darkened. "You look a fright! What's happened?"

"Ron?" Harry asked, stupidly.

He'd meant to say something like, "Oh, I'm fine, nothing to worry about. Say, if it isn't too much trouble, you wouldn't happen to know where Ron is, would you?" But that one syllable seemed to be all he could manage.

"Oh...isn't he up in your room?" Ginny asked the boys, her face a mask of worry.

"Err," Neville said awkwardly, "I...don't think so."

But Neville had always been a bad liar, and Dean and Seamus were looking at him with confused expressions on their faces – that was all Harry needed to know. Ron was upstairs. He'd go get Ron, and then Ron could ask Ginny to go up and get Hermione, and then he could sit down with both of them, and...well, he didn't even know what, but he had to tell them. He had to unburden himself of the weight of what he'd seen tonight, what he'd heard. He didn't even stop to think why Neville might be lying about Ron's whereabouts. Whatever it was, there were more important things afoot right now.

He bounded up the boys' staircase, not even registering Neville's feeble protests, and burst through the door to the sixth years' room.

"Ron?" he called desperately, his eyes turning immediately to Ron's four-poster.

The bed hangings were closed, and there was no answer, but Harry couldn't hear Ron's loud snoring, either. He crossed the room, annoyed, and reached for the hangings. He had no idea why Ron was avoiding him, but whatever was going on—

"Ron!" he shouted, as he wrenched the curtains open, "I know you're awake."

Ron was leaning up on one arm, his face white as a sheet, goggling at Harry as though he'd seen a ghost. His bare chest was glinting like freckled marble in the moonlight, in stark contrast to his ginger hair.

"Ron, are you alright?" Harry asked, himself surprised by Ron's reaction, "It's only me, for heaven's...sake..."

Harry trailed off as his gaze wandered past Ron's bare shoulder, and he noticed a few locks of bushy brown hair peeking out from under the covers at Ron's side.

"What's..." he began to ask, but he stopped himself again, as he mentally answered his own question. He felt as though his stomach had turned to lead and was slowly sinking to the floor, while there was an odd jerking sensation in his chest. He felt as though he couldn't get any air into his lungs.

The rest of Hermione's face slowly emerged from under the covers. Her bushy hair was a mess of curly tangles and frizzy wisps, and her cheeks were a brilliant crimson contrast to Ron's paleness. She looked absolutely beautiful, and utterly miserable. Harry closed his eyes in horror, as he noted her shoulders were bare as well. The image was burned into his mind's eye, however, even as he tried to push it away. The small muscle that connected her shoulder to her neck flexing, the slight hollow above her collarbone...

"It's not what you think," Ron said, hoarsely.

"Harry," Hermione said, in a very small, sad, un-Hermione voice.

Feeling as though his brain had been Petrified, Harry quietly turned and left the room, feeling the doorknob click softly into place as he shut the door behind him. He stood in the hallway, immobilized, staring at the floor. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but it was only when he turned to his right that he saw Neville standing a few steps down, wringing his hands anxiously.

"She, err...asked me to...err, not to, rather...I mean, she didn't – it's not like they were trying to..."

Harry soundlessly began to walk down the stairs, brushing past Neville. He walked mechanically through the stiflingly warm common room, feeling Dean's, Seamus's, and Ginny's eyes on him as he crossed to the portrait hole.

"Harry?" Ginny asked anxiously, but Harry already had one foot through the portrait, and stepped out into the corridors. He wasn't quite sure where he was going.

"Harry?" he heard Hermione's voice call behind him, desperately, but the portrait swung shut immediately after. She must have come down the stairs to try and find him. He wondered momentarily if Ron was with her, and what state of dress they might be in.

He raced through the corridors, the main gate to the school growing larger in his field of vision. He saw his hands push the doors open, rather than command them to do so, and he burst out onto the grounds, the cool night air sharp in his chest, and dizzying to his mind. His eyes were stinging, from the cold, he imagined...the scent of a log fire lingered in the air, and the stars shone bright and cruel in the inky sky. He didn't know where he was going, but his feet seemed to know, as they pelted the ground, the world shaking around him as he was carried along...


	47. Chapter FortySeven

It was only when Harry got to Hagrid's doorstep that he reflected that this was probably a really stupid idea.

He couldn't quite get up the nerve to knock. He hadn't really even intended to come here. The small cabin was dark, and what was Harry going to say, once he'd managed to wake Hagrid? He wasn't about to explain what he'd just seen, or why he couldn't possibly sleep in that room tonight...and he certainly wouldn't be able to tell him about the second part of the Prophecy...he wasn't even sure if he knew about the first part.

He considered going back to the common room and setting up camp on one of the sofas, but he knew that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, or possibly all three of them would be sitting up waiting for him to come back. If Hermione didn't hear from him soon, actually, she'd probably go to a teacher, just to protect him.

"Protect me. Nice job of that, Hermione," Harry thought fiercely. He knew in his heart that's why they hadn't told him. He could almost hear Hermione and Ron arguing.

"He's got enough on his mind right now, Ron."

But how had they known it would bother him so much? And why _did_ it bother him so much?

"You knew," said the nasty little voice that was by now quite familiar to Harry, "You knew this would happen. They don't need you anymore. It's you that needs them, and they feel sorry for you. All anybody wants you for is the scar on your head."

"That's not true!" he said, out loud. There was a canine snort and a yawn from inside the cabin. Harry froze – he'd managed to wake Fang up.

There was the click of claws on the wooden floor, and then a whine, and snuffling at the crack in the door. Harry's brow furrowed – Maybe...maybe Hagrid wasn't at home? Yes, come to think of it, if he'd been at home, surely he'd have left a fire going on a night like this, and he'd be snoring.

He walked around to the back door, and reached under the mat for the key, fumbling at the lock with cold fingers. The door swung open, and Fang jumped up and put his paws on his shoulders with a happy whine, panting and drooling.

"Get off!" Harry said, fiercely, pushing Fang away. He already felt as though he'd been slammed in the chest by a ton of bricks. The last thing he needed was reminding of Sirius. Fang whined again, and took a few cautious steps backwards.

"Sorry," Harry said, feeling like a prat, and reaching out to scratch behind his ears. A quick scan of the cabin revealed that Hagrid wasn't, in fact, at home. He wondered vaguely where he was.

"Probably at that Order meeting. Or out 'accelerating plans,' or whatever," he thought mechanically. He replaced the key under the mat, closed the door, and locked it from the inside.

There was a fluttering at the closed window, and Harry saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. Hedwig was trying unsuccessfully to perch on the narrow sill of the window, a piece of parchment in her beak. Harry opened the window to let her in, and she landed on Hagrid's broad oak table, ruffling her feathers and looking up at Harry sternly.

Harry took the letter, which hadn't even been folded. It was scribbled hastily in Hermione's handwriting.

"Harry, I know you're mad – wherever you are, please come back...It's not safe for you to be—"

Harry didn't bother reading the rest of it. So that's all she had to say. "It's not safe for you to be out at night." That's all they cared about – the Boy Who Lived. They'd probably just feel guilty if he got attacked by Death Eaters, or froze to death or something. He glanced around the cabin until he found a quill, and tore a scrap of parchment off the bottom of the letter.

"I'm fine. Go to back to bed," he wrote cruelly, and held out the parchment for Hedwig. She glared at him reproachfully.

"What? What do you want?" Harry asked irritably, "Take it. _Ouch!_"

Hedwig pecked painfully at his thumb. Apparently Hermione had taken a leaf out of his book, and instructed her to keep pecking at him until he read the letter, or wrote a lengthy reply...maybe even until he went back to the castle.

"Fine!" Harry shouted angrily, "Take it to her, or don't take it to her, I don't care."

He sat in one corner of the massive armchair near the fire, and curled up against the cold, his knees to his chest. Hedwig sat on the oak table for a few more minutes, then hooted reproachfully, and with the soft sound of feathers brushing against wood, took flight through the open window.

Harry shivered. He debated for a moment whether it was worth it to get up and close the window. He was freezing, yes, but he didn't feel like moving, either. And maybe Hedwig would want to come back...on the other hand, if she could get through the window, so could anything or anyone else. Finally, thoughts of security prompted him to cross over to the window and shut it irritably, closing the latch. If Hermione wanted to talk to him, she'd just have to wait until he was damn well ready.

Shivering, Harry wondered briefly whether it would be too rude to stay in Hagrid's bed – after all, it was massive, and the mess of blankets on top of it looked awfully warm. He decided, however, that that would be a bit rude – it was enough that he was already pretty much breaking and entering, and he didn't know when he'd be back from whatever errand he was currently on. He climbed back into the snug corner of the armchair, and settled himself in. Fang whined from the corner of the room.

"Psst...here, boy," Harry said, patting the saggy cushion near his feet. Fang gleefully lollopped over, jumped up onto the armchair, and after turning a few circles, settled down next to Harry, covering his frigid feet with his warm body.

Harry absentmindedly scratched behind Fang's ears some more, his mind wandering back to Sirius again. His eyes stung and watered. He would have given anything to be able to talk to him now. He'd know what to do. He'd probably tell him that he was being silly, and have something funny and warm and comforting to say, and make it seem like it wasn't really that awful after all.

"I'm so selfish," Harry muttered under his breath.

He knew he should just be happy for them – they were his best friends, after all. He'd caused them enough trouble lately, and they deserved to just be happy for once. Besides, there were so many more important things to worry about...

"Don't leave me," said a very small voice inside him, "Everyone always leaves..." The burning in his eyes intensified.

He blinked it away, and gradually drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Sirius, his parents, Ron, and Hermione dancing in his head.

He woke up with an angry crick in his neck, and bright, searing daylight in his eyes. He blinked, and grunted as he tried to move his neck. He suddenly realized that one of Hagrid's blankets was tucked around his neck, and Fang had returned to his own bed in the corner, and was snoring peacefully. Harry sat up, rotating his shoulder painfully against the stiffness, and saw that there were some glowing coals left in the fireplace, and a small black pot hanging on a hook over it, smelling of pumpkins and sausages. There was a note on the table, in Hagrid's untidy scrawl. Harry noted with horror that it was on the back of Hermione's letter, and he wondered if Hagrid had read it.

"Help yorself to soop. Haff to work. You can tell me abowt it later. Just make shure the fires owt before you go."

Harry folded up the parchment and stuck it in his pocket. As kind as Hagrid had been to him, he wasn't sure he could explain this.

After taking Hagrid's advice and helping himself to some pumpkin and sausage soup (which was uncharacteristically delicious), Harry felt warmed and ready enough to slink back to the Gryffindor common room. He wondered vaguely whether he'd missed breakfast, or if he ought to be going to class. With a start, he realized that Hagrid would be teaching Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon, and at that thought, he shoved his feet back into his trainers and pulled his robes back on over his clothes. Fang whimpered in his sleep from the corner, his paws twitching, and Harry quietly snuck out the back door, using the key under the mat to lock up behind himself.

He crossed back over the grounds, and realized by the position of the sun that it actually wasn't that late at all. Breakfast had probably started, but classes surely hadn't begun yet.

"You can't avoid them forever, you know," he told himself mentally, "Eventually you're going to see them again. You're not just going to skive off every class from now until March."

"Until June," Harry muttered aloud, defiantly, "Every class until _June_."

He realized, with an unsettled feeling, that his scar was not even prickling in the slightest – Voldemort must have been deliberately trying to close his mind to Harry, after realizing what he'd let slip the other night.

Harry took a deep breath and cleared his mind, more for his own benefit than to keep Voldemort at bay.

"You're fine," he told himself, "You've got other things to worry about."

When he reached the portrait hole, the Fat Lady eyed him a bit strangely.

"Well, good morning!"

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," Harry muttered, a bit embarrassed.

The Fat Lady swung open, still eyeing him with a slight look of reproach – he was sure it was against school rules to stay at Hagrid's, but he didn't much care, and he had a feeling that once Hagrid had found him, nobody else had cared very much either.

"Oh, HARRY!"

There was a flash of red hair, and Ginny's spindly arms were crushing Harry's ribcage. Almost as instantly, she pushed him away from her, and put her hands on her hips, her face assuming a scowl worthy of Mrs. Weasley.

"Where on _Earth_ did you go? Of all the _stupid_ things to do, we stayed up half the _night_ –"

"Sorry," Harry mumbled irritably, "Just...a bit of a shock."

Ginny's expression softened, and as she eyed him sympathetically. It was only now that Harry noticed his entrance had gone relatively unnoticed in the common room. In fact, there was rather a large crowd, laughing and gossiping over by the girl's staircase, which had gone quite smooth...

"Who tried to get up?" Harry asked, looking over Ginny's shoulder, but he was spared an answer by watching Viktor Krum push his way irritably through the laughing second and third years.

"Ah," Harry said, some odd, vengeful satisfaction clicking into place.

Viktor spotted him, and crossed over to Harry.

"Vere is Hermoninny? You know?"

"You won't find her _there_," Harry said, wryly. For a moment he thought about telling him exactly where she was most likely to be found, when he realized that he didn't really want to punish or embarrass Hermione, or Viktor for that matter...besides, it was none of his business.

"Right," he thought miserably, picturing Ron's closed bed hangings, "None of my business. I'll just leave you to it, then."

"I haff to speak to Hermoninny," Viktor said quietly, as though he were explaining this to a two year old.

"Well, how am I supposed to know where she is?" Harry lied, growing even more irritated, "I'm not her keeper."

Krum leaned in even further, and his voice dropped even quieter.

"I haff instructions from Dumbledorf."

Harry and Ginny's eyebrows both jumped for the ceiling, and Krum seemed to take some satisfaction in knowing something they didn't.

"Well, you're out of luck, then," Ginny said coolly, "Why don't you tell us what they are, and I'll see if I can go find her."

Krum shuffled his feet awkwardly. "They are for Hermoninny."

"HER – MY – OH – KNEE." Harry said, adopting Krum's tone of speaking to a two year old.

Krum straightened up a bit taller, which only made Harry realize that however burly Krum was, Harry still had about a foot on him.

"Vell, these instructions are for _Her-my-oh-knee_," he said, grumpily, "Not for you."

"Oh for heaven's sake, stop puffing out your chests," Ginny said, rolling her eyes, "Krum, I'm sure you'll find her either at the library or at breakfast by now."

Krum seemed to consider Ginny's words, and then nodded grumpily, and pushed his way through the portrait hole.

"As for _you_," Ginny said, rounding on Harry.

"Is Ron up there?" he deflected, jerking his head towards the boy's staircase.

"No," Ginny said, "When he didn't find you in bed this morning, he went down to the Great Hall to make sure he wouldn't be here when you came back. He's been sitting there since _dawn_."

"Trying to avoid me, is he?" Harry asked, glowering.

"Actually," Ginny said, her green eyes flashing dangerously, "He knew that _you_ would want to avoid _him_, and thought he'd give you a little space. Would you like to know what _I_ think?"

Her fists had wandered to her hips again.

"I think I already know," Harry muttered, quailing a bit under Ginny's glare.

"You were a complete prat last night," Ginny said, and Harry was surprised to hear an emotion other than anger hiding behind her scowl, "We'd no idea where you'd gone off to. I stayed up all night on the common room couch, like an _idiot_, waiting for you..."

"I did send a note back to Hermione," Harry shuffled guiltily.

"A _note_?" Ginny shrieked, and several of the second year girls who were still gossiping by the staircase turned to look at her.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded fiercely, and they scurried back up the staircase.

"If you can call _six words_ a note, then _yes_, we got that," Ginny said, spitting like an angry cat.

Harry studied the laces of his trainers, unable to meet Ginny's eye. He knew he'd made a mess of things. Why couldn't he just be cool about this? Everyone else was fine with it, apparently. Why did he have to be the one to make everyone around him miserable?

"M'sorry," he mumbled sincerely.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said, in another perfect imitation of Mrs. Weasley, and wrapped her arms around his trunk. For a minute Harry felt embarrassed, as he scanned the common room nervously...who knew who else was watching them? There were a few people studying over at the other end of the room...But then he figured that Ginny obviously didn't care, so why should he? Besides, what was there to be embarrassed about?

He wrapped his arms around her shoulder, and leaned his face slightly against her hair. He sighed deeply, and realized she smelled a bit like Ron – he could smell her wool sweater, and a certain type of soap that they both must use...But there was more to it. Something that smelled a bit like spice and flowers.

"Must be her shampoo," Harry thought, idly, feeling a bit warm about the face and neck, as he realized Ginny was pressed flush up against him.

Suddenly Harry wondered what Fred or George might say if they discovered him smelling Ginny's hair like some kind of lecher.

He broke away from the hug, and to compensate, patted Ginny on the back roughly.

"Thanks, mate," he said firmly.

Ginny's face was a bit red. Hang it all. She'd probably noticed. But she didn't seem too put off...

"Sure," she said, in a strangely high voice.

"I'm sorry I made you worry. I'll be fine. Really," Harry reassured her, "It's just..."

He looked at the ground.

"It's fine, Harry," she said softly, "You're a good friend. Well, _most_ of the time!" she added, poking him sternly in the chest.

Harry nodded, and tried to chuckle, but it felt sort of strangled in his throat. Why was this so painful? Hadn't he just decided to focus on more important things?

"I wonder what those instructions were?" Ginny said, after a moment, obviously trying to change the topic.

"Yeah," Harry said, forcing his brain out of the rut it was in, and on to new fodder, "I suppose I'd better go up and change...and then I'd better get down to breakfast...Dumbledore mentioned that he might send an owl..."

"Take a shower, while you're at it?" Ginny asked, as though asking for a personal favor, "You smell like Fang."


	48. Chapter FortyEight

A hot shower and a change of clothes later, Harry arrived at the Great Hall, and scanned the table for Ron and Hermione. They were easy to find – they were sitting completely alone. Even Ginny, Neville, and Luna had given them a wide berth this morning, and Harry could immediately tell why. Hermione was hissing over the table top, while Ron staunchly ignored her and methodically shoveled porridge into his mouth.

"Good," Harry thought savagely, "Let them argue about it."

He immediately felt disgusted with himself. Ginny was right, he had to stop being a prat about this, no matter how uncomfortable. He forced himself to don a neutral expression, and walked over to join them.

"...being completely idiotic about this, Ron, this is far more important than—Harry!"

Ron's head jerked up, his face stricken. Hermione recovered from her initial shock and slid over a bit.

"Good morning," she said politely, but Harry could hear the strain of holding back a hundred choice words in her voice.

"Morning," he said, sitting down.

"You've had mail," Ron said, his voice strangely high as Ginny's had been. He pushed a letter across the table.

Harry frowned. Who'd be writing to him? Certainly not the Dursleys...

He opened the letter, and found it was from Dumbledore.

"Oh!" he said hurriedly to Hermione, the letter jogging his memory, "Did Viktor—"

"Yes," Hermione interrupted, "He found me. Read the letter first, though."

Harry noticed for the first time that Ron and Hermione had similar envelopes, already opened, lying next to their breakfast plates. He turned his eyes to Dumbledore's loopy cursive:

Dear Harry,

As per your request last night, the Order has discussed your potential involvement in certain preparations for March. All of these (at Mrs. Weasley's outraged insistence) may be carried out here, at Hogwarts.

The most important thing you can do is to continue the DA. Professor Lupin recommends that you check in with him every now and again to compare notes, in order to best help each student. You will also need to practice your Occlumency quite strenuously now, as it is vital that Lord Voldemort gain no access to our plans and preparations.

In addition to continuing these efforts, however, comes another task for you...or rather, a plethora of tasks, to be precise. All of us in the Order and many of your close friends are now working on "projects," if you will. It is an unfortunate side-effect of your fame that their individual projects will all benefit greatly from your support. As much as you hate being in the limelight, Harry, you have become a kind of symbol of this upcoming war – your involvement will be an infinite help to them. I know you will do the right thing.

Mr. Weasley (Ron) will most likely require your help regarding inter-house relations. Miss Granger will be working with the House Elf Regulation and Relocation office and with our own house elves – your prior relationship with Dobby and the trust you have established will make your experience invaluable in that arena. Mr. Weasley (Bill) and Miss Delacour require research assistants. You will be helping Miss Weasley (Ginevra) there, in conjunction with Professor Binns.

With regards to Muggle Relations, you will be working with Mr. Weasley (Arthur), who is currently butting heads with Minister Fudge and Mr. Weasley (Percy), as to Muggle Notificiation and Defense. I will let him explain this to you in greater detail.

I regret, as always, the heavy burden that falls to you, Harry...my only comfort in this circumstance, is that this time you did, in fact, ask for it.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry sighed deeply, and folded the letter again.

"Well?" Hermione asked, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm supposed to keep up the DA and my Occlumency, and other than that, help you two, pretty much."

"Ah. I expected as much," Hermione said briskly. Her voice was efficient and guarded, and Ron wouldn't (or couldn't) even meet his eye. Harry felt miserable – perhaps he'd finally gone and ruined their friendship. Why did Hermione have to look so...resigned?

She handed him several sheafs of parchment, all scribbled full of her neat handwriting. Some items were labeled with stars, or boxed, to emphasize their importance.

"Here you are," she said, "These are instructions, and some important background information. Important names are boxed, and tasks are asterisked...Sorry Harry, but you'll have to make a bit of headway while I'm gone. I already made some progress over the summer – most of them know me, so just mention my name in passing, and –"

"Gone?" Harry asked, both bewildered, and grateful that she was addressing him directly, "Where are you going?"

"Bulgaria, of course," Ron muttered, "With Vicky."

"Ron," hissed Hermione, "It's not as if I want to go. This is _business_."

Ron simply jabbed at his porridge sullenly. Hermione's face seemed to melt a bit. For a moment she seemed as though she were going to reach a hand across the table to touch Ron's face, but her eyes darted towards Harry, and she diverted the gesture to push her hair behind her ear.

"Her-mi-o-ne," Krum voice came from behind Harry. He whipped around, startled – Krum must have walked up behind them. He accented each syllable very clearly, evidently determined to get her name right in front of Harry, and had his customary scowl pasted over his features. Harry noticed that in addition to his clothing he wore a traveling cloak, and carried a suitcase in each hand.

"Yes, I know," she said, standing distractedly.

She paused for a moment, seeming to decide what to say.

"Well, err...I'll only be there a day, but there's traveling, so...I probably won't see you until quite late tomorrow..."

Neither of them knew what to say.

"Bye," Ron said, simply, not looking up from his plate.

Hermione's eyes were sparkling, though with tears or temper, Harry couldn't say.

"_Bye_," she replied callously, and stalked off ahead of Viktor, who scowled at Harry ("What did I do?" he thought, irritably) and duck-footed after her.

Harry and Ron didn't say anything for a while. Ron looked torn between anger and extreme discomfort and continued to shovel porridge methodically. Harry himself was feeling quite angry with Ron – he had no right to make her cry like that. Why did he have to be so unfeeling?

"You know –" Harry started.

"So would –" Ron started at the same time.

"You first," Ron said, lowering his eyes to his bowl again.

"No, you," Harry replied, struggling to stay even-tempered.

"So would you care to explain to me why we're preparing for a war?" Ron asked, jutting his chin at Harry by way of a challenge.

"Well, I was _going_ to tell both of you, but if you'll recall, you were _indisposed_ last night," Harry replied in an angry whisper. He'd noticed several of the nearby Gryffindors were quite a bit quieter than usual, and seemed to have an almost unnatural focus on their breakfast.

Ron's face turned beet red to match his ears.

"It's none of your—"

"Business, I know," Harry interrupted, "Do you want to know what happened or not?"

Ron apparently wrestled with this decision for a moment, toying with his spoon with long fingers. It was obvious he that he really did want to know what the hell was happening, but was unwilling to ask Harry for anything he had the power to withhold.

"How do _you_ like it, then?" Harry thought viciously, remembering last summer when Ron and Hermione had kept him in the dark for months.

But another nagging voice in his head (an oddly familiar, feminine one) reminded him that they hadn't had a choice. They were under strict orders from Dumbledore.

"Besides," the voice continued testily, "You know that's not what you're really mad about."

"I _told_ you," Harry argued stubbornly with the voice, "All anyone wants me for is the scar on my head. Even Ron – he doesn't even want to talk about last night. He's just told me it's none of my business. All he wants to know about is the bloody war."

"Oh, Harry," said the voice, sadly, and Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He knew it was wrong of him to doubt their friendship, but still...didn't he have a right to?

"_Oi! Harry!_" Ron said, sharply.

"Hmm?" Harry jerked back to the present moment.

"I've only asked you what happened about a hundred bloody times," Ron muttered, angrily mashing his remaining porridge, "You could at least say that you don't want to tell me, instead of staring off into space ignoring me. Drives me up a wall."

"I didn't hear you," Harry snapped, "I was thinking about...other stuff."

There was another silence, and Harry felt the waves of anger and irritation emanate across the table from Ron. And something else – sadness?

"Why do you have to win at everything?" came a small, sad voice in Harry's head, and he realized with a shock that he was hearing Ron's thoughts, much the same as he'd heard Snape's before. But he sounded so young...

Harry, an only child, suddenly felt the burden of being surrounded by superiors, people who were like you, but would always be better than you...people who were so incredible, you couldn't help but love and admire them just the same as everyone else did...a miniature army of tall, freckled, red-headed demigods...

...and one black-haired one.

"So are you going to tell me?" Ron asked, sulkily.

"I had another vision," Harry said cautiously, "With Snape."

He felt another surge of irritation come from Ron. _Another vision. Lovely. The prophet speaks. All bow before The Boy Who– _

"I saw Hogwarts burning," Harry said, trying to impress upon Ron just how horrible it had been, "People were dying...my scar – it was like my head split open. I...saw you. Dead. It was terrible."

A jolt of fear, and wonder...Anger turning to pain. Hardened wounds reopening...

"And then Professor Trelawney came in, and added a second part to the prophecy."

Ron's eyes shot open, and Harry didn't need Occlumency to interpret Ron's shock.

"What did she say?" he whispered, all pretense of anger forgotten.

"It's happening in March," Harry said, sighing heavily, as he felt the weight of it press his elbows into the wood table, "The Prophecy is going to be fulfilled in March."

"So that means..." Ron said, slowly. He leaned back, and ran a hand absentmindedly through his red hair, ruffling it. Harry smiled, despite himself, and then remembered that they were still mad at each other.

"Blimey," Ron said simply.

"Well," Harry said, straightening up after a pause, "I told you _my_ secret..."

"Err," Ron said, loosening his tie a bit.

Harry waited a moment for Ron to reply, the anger seeping back in through the cracks. But watching Ron squirm this way wasn't providing him any satisfaction.

"There's nothing to tell," Harry realized, sadly, "You know everything you need to know. What's he going to say that'll make it all okay?"

"What's in the _letter_," Harry prompted, as though that were what he'd been asking all along.

"Oh!" Ron said, and Harry felt another surge of annoyance at his obvious relief, which he hid by taking another bite of breakfast.

"Well," Ron continued, "Dumbledore probably told you about as much as he told me. You and I are meant to work together to try and bring the houses together."

"Good luck there," Harry said wryly, watching the tall Slytherin boy who had confronted him in the Great Hall saunter over to his table, and take his seat with Blaise Zabini and Pansy.

"Well, we've got to try anyway. Dumbledore reckons we should try to expand the D.A. I thought a good place to start would be the Quidditch teams. I thought maybe we could have a sort of unofficial game – you know, like an All-Star game. Have members on each team from all four houses..."

"Like a scrimmage," Harry added, absentmindedly watching Ginny chat with Luna and Neville. She'd be a great Chaser for an All-star team.

"A what?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose, "Scrimitch?"

"Never mind," Harry said, "I think it's a great idea. A Goodwill Game."

"'Goodwill Game'...that's rather good, actually. I like it!" Ron said, and his blue eyes lit up and met Harry's for a moment, until he realized they were still mad at one another, and slumped back down in his chair.

"Come on," Harry said, "We're due in Charms."


	49. Chapter Forty Nine

Charms and Transfiguration passed relatively easily, but that may have largely been due to the fact that neither of the boys was paying attention. Ron was muttering and rifling through a multi-colored calendar that Hermione had left him ("There's no bloody _time_ for a Goodwill Game! Look at this – class, class, homework, practice, D.A...") while Harry sifted his way through instructions she had left, and began drafting letters as he pretended to take notes. Fortunately Flitwick had ignored them the entire class, and McGonagall seemed to be doing the same – Harry supposed they were aware that he had a few other things on his mind.

"Dear Ms. Orkishun," Harry scribbled, "My Hermione..."

He crossed it out.

"My friend, Hermione..."

My friend? My best friend? My good friend? My ex-friend?

The object of my pathetic, unrequited yearning?

Bugger. It was embarrassing even to think it. The very word "yearning" made something in Harry shrivel up and let out a mortified groan.

"My classmate, Hermione has written to you before..."

He crossed the sentence out. He was terrible at letter writing. He knew how to write a letter to his friends – he simply said what was on his mind, and signed it. He had no idea how to write a proper letter, to someone he'd never met before. Hermione could run rings around him at this.

"...and, of course, this type of wizard would be called? Potter?"

"A metamorphmagus," Harry answered methodically. He'd been paying attention out of the corner of his mind, and it had been an easy question. He was quite sure Professor McGonagall had chosen him deliberately, so as not to appear to be ignoring him.

"Good, five points to Gryffindor. The metamorphmagus..."

Harry returned to his letter, and stared at the crossed-out section. On a sudden inspiration, he rifled through the letters Hermione had sent previously, all either Copy-quilled, or sent back to her, unopened. Perhaps he could find some inspiration there – or perhaps he could meticulously and untraceably paraphrase her every sentence...He'd had years to become an expert at that. He found one, and read it to himself.

"...plight of these impoverished, objectified creatures is unconscionable and backward, and I demand that this oppression be rectified..."

Harry blinked, and searched through several other of her letters...No wonder Hermione hadn't gotten any kind of response out of these people. In some letters she made angry demands, in others she wheedled, in others she painted the plight of the house elves rather more desperately than entirely necessary...

No, he couldn't do this Hermione's way. Finally, he hunkered down over his desk, and irritably set quill to parchment.

"To the Head of the Office of House Elf Relocation, Dear Ms. Orkishun," he muttered through his teeth quietly as he wrote. Ron nudged his shin with his toe, and Harry stopped muttering, but his quill barely paused.

"I'm sure you know who I am, and I'm also sure you know my classmate Hermione Granger."

"She's that house-elf nutter?" he thought, but did not write, "The one who's been writing to you every week for about a year now?"

"I am writing to ask you again for a list of all house elves currently registered with your office. Maybe the reason you haven't sent them yet is because you don't agree with Hermione on the issue of house-elf rights...But if you read the Prophet (and believe what you read there) you surely know by now that V– "

Harry paused in his letter writing. He couldn't get away with it – he didn't want to alienate her right off the bat. It annoyed him to no end, but it had to be done.

"...that He Who Must Not Be Named is returning to power. Headmaster Dumbledore and Hermione and I are only hoping to contact the house elves listed in your registry, to let them know that He is returning to power, and...."

Again Harry interrupted himself. He was quite certain what Dumbledore really wanted...but if he told Ms. Orkishun that he was trying to amass a house elf army to stave off a Death Eater attack on Hogwarts School, she'd laugh and throw his letter straight in the dustbin. Or worse, sell it to the Quibbler. Or even worse, the Prophet. And now that Rita Skeeter wasn't making a glass jar her primary residence, Harry wasn't even sure that the threat of reporting her as an Animagus could keep this story under wraps...

Harry winced. There was no good way to say this...

Well, Ms. Orkishun didn't really need to know what they were going to do with the list, did she? All they needed was to get it from her...

"...that He is returning to power, and after alerting them to this danger, offer Hogwarts school as a temporary safe-haven. We hope to hear from you soon, and thank you for your time. Sincerely, Harry Potter."

Well, that was a bald-faced lie. Besides, most house-elves still belonged to wealthy, pureblood families, and were hardly at risk from Voldemort – in fact, they'd be much safer in their own houses. If most of them were like Kreacher, trying to amass a house elf army to rise up against Lord Voldemort would be akin to asking all the third years to boycott Honeydukes. But if there were many house elves like Kreacher, there had to also be some like Dobby, who hated their masters, and would be willing to stand up and fight against Lord Voldemort...

Harry only hoped Ms. Orkishun was unable to figure any of this out. And besides, a little white lie was much more likely to get them the results they needed. Wasn't it?

He re-read the letter – nothing in it convinced him in the slightest to comply. He had the sinking feeling that he was simply going to receive a form letter in reply, like the stack of ten or twenty Hermione had handed him along with her instructions... "Thank you for contacting us here at the Ministry of Magic. We are always anxious to respond to the concerns of..." Blah blah blah. Waste of bloody parchment.

Harry furrowed his brow, helplessness lending a slight, fluttering panic to his annoyance.

"Please help us," Harry scribbled at the bottom, "The worst that could happen is we'll all be very embarrassed to be wrong, and the house elves will return home. No one wants to think about what might happen if we're right, but whether you believe it or not, you have can help us save lives."

He re-read the passage – that seemed pretty strong. As an afterthought, he added:

"No matter what happens, I promise the letters will stop coming. Sincerely, Harry Potter."

Seamus Finnigan, exactly on-cue as usual, began to pack up his books, and the class started to fidget with their parchments and book bags.

"Do pardon me, Mr. Finnigan, but if you don't mind, I think I'll be the one to dismiss class," Professor McGonagall said, peering down at them severely over the rim of her glasses.

After a brief pause to emphasize this fact, she simply sighed and nodded, and the class rumbled to life along with the rest of the school spilling out into the corridors.

Ron shoved the calendar and a stack of parchments covered in Hermione's impeccable script into his book bag wearily.

"Care of Magical Creatures?" Harry asked in a gruff sort of voice, willing to initiate contact but not wanting to stretch the olive branch too far too fast.

"Right," Ron grunted, and they turned their feet towards the main gate.

The cold gray days of the freshly-minted year were welcome to Harry – it matched his contemplative mood. Even the clouds of steam announcing their breath satisfied Harry on some deep, inchoate level, as he walked next to Ron, their eyes directed to the frosty ground, not speaking.

His peaceful, private funk was interrupted however, when they arrived at Hagrid's cabin to find not Hagrid waiting for them, but Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"What now?" Ron muttered under his breath.

Harry wondered vaguely himself, but was distracted by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle skulking about. He narrowed his eyes, and automatically reminded himself to keep an eye on them during the lesson.

"Alright!" she said briskly, "Gather nice and close now."

"Where's Hagrid?" Dean asked somewhat belligerently, and they all knew it would do no good.

"Don't know. Anyway, mind your business," Professor Grubby-Plank said in the same unperturbed, brisk manner, as though Dean had merely asked the time.

"Now these," she continued, gesturing at a small cage in which several small, black creatures flittered about on glittery wings, "are doxies."

Harry noticed Parvati and Lavender had neglected their obligatory croon of awe today (most likely because doxies were viewed as little more than household pests in the wizarding world, or at best, potion ingredients.)

"Now who can tell me how doxies differ from fairies?" Professor Grubbly-Plank asked. Everyone paused, waiting for Hermione to shoot her hand up, and it was only after the Gryffindors began looking around each other curiously that they realized she was absent.

Befuddled, Seamus raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Finnigan?"

"Well, they're like fairies, but a bit more dangerous, on account of their venom," he answered, sounding a bit apprehensive, as though Hermione were going to leap out from behind someone and start adding information to his reply.

"Five points to Gryffindor," Professor Grubbly-Plank said, "The doxy, like the fairy, does not bear live young, but lays its eggs, normally on the underside of a leaf..."

Harry tuned out rather early in the class. Doxies were the least of his worries. Besides, they reminded him of Grimmauld Place, which reminded him of Sirius, which still ached dully. A sudden flash of memory, and Harry could almost see Sirius take the rickety stairs two at time, the sunken eyes of his once-handsome face crinkling happily as he bellowed, "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs," the tuneless roar mingling with Ginny's giggle from the landing. The ache swelled slightly. To his own surprise, he hadn't thought of Sirius in a couple weeks now, and was just beginning to wonder whether he ought to feel guilty about it or not, when he noticed Malfoy acting rather strangely.

Or rather, not acting in his usual strange way. Normally, Hagrid's absence would be the cause of elated smirks and smug muttering between Draco and his thick cohorts. But today, all three of them seemed somber, on edge. To be fair, Crabbe and Goyle never seemed particularly relaxed or engaged in the topic at hand...but Malfoy seemed especially preoccupied, as the three of them stared at the turf. Harry wondered if they knew a war was at hand, and whether they'd heard it from Lucius, or somewhere in the school. He also wondered, with an acid stomach, whether Voldemort already knew about the second half of the prophecy, or whether he'd been planning the attack for some time...

And if there was an attack, who would Malfoy side with?

"Any ideas?" Ron breathed to Harry's right.

"Hmm?" Harry asked.

Ron cocked his head slightly in the direction of the three Slytherins behind him, apparently having followed Harry's gaze.

"Inter-house unity," Ron said, raising a dubious eyebrow, "Any ideas?"

Harry shook his head, and muttered a reply, "Lost cause. We're lucky if they don't become Death Eaters."

Harry felt a little uncomfortable saying it out loud – after all, they were supposed to _try_ to get the houses to unite. But Draco was going to do what he was going to do, and he certainly wasn't going to ask for any advice from the Great Harry Potter. Better to focus on the other Slytherins.

He scanned the class, looking for Slytherins who might be convinced to...

...to what? What was he supposed to be asking people to do, anyway? Sign some sort of a petition? "I promise to be nice to Gryffindors?"

To join the D.A., perhaps? Harry wasn't sure if the rest of the D.A. would stand for that...On the other hand, Marietta Edgecombe had been a Ravenclaw, and had sold them all out. And Peter Pettigrew had been a _Gryffindor_!

"Good work _there_," Harry thought ironically, picturing the Sorting Hat at the beginning of the year, refusing to sort, "Too close to call? I could've sorted those two for you..."

"Or perhaps," Harry answered himself mentally, "Slytherin really doesn't hold the patent on evil."

He returned his gaze to the other Gryffindors ranged around him, and shuddered at the thought.

Pansy Parkinson caught his eye, and sneeringly turned away.

"She's good in charms," Harry thought idly, "Bet she knows all sorts of hexes..."

"So where do you think Hagrid's off to?" Ron asked.

"Probably off to the giants again," Harry replied, picturing Hagrid striding purposefully into a valley of gray-skinned creatures whose kneecaps were roughly head-level.

"He's probably be able to travel by magic, now that the Ministry's not nosing about. Hopefully he'll be back a bit sooner."

"Wonder if he took Grawp with him?" Ron asked, his eyes darting over to the forest, "I feel a bit bad, we haven't been to – hey!"

Harry turned his eyes to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Ron was looking, and was surprised to see Firenze limping out of the trees, looking quite a bit worse for wear.

"Blimey," Ron muttered, "He's been through the wringer, eh?"

"Looks like another run-in with his herd," Harry said, eyeing several nasty, curved bruises already blooming on Firenze's fair-skinned torso. It looked as though he'd been kicked rather badly, and a cut above his eye ended in a red smear, which he wiped away, casually examining the blood on his fingers, as he walked back to the castle in a smooth, rolling gait.

Several of the girls, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, had noticed Firenze strolling back to the castle, and were whispering and giggling behind their hands.

Harry felt a surge of irrational annoyance. He knew Hermione wouldn't be giggling and gossiping about Firenze's bare man-chest, but whispering earnestly to he and Ron about the centaurs' involvement in the upcoming war, or something she'd read in the Daily Prophet...

He saw Ron out of the corner of his eye, and his chest throbbed again, dully. Did he even know what he had in Hermione? How could he be so reckless as to...well...

"Girls! Kindly stop gawking and pay attention," Professor Grubbly-Plank said with the practiced calm of a veteran teacher, and the class reluctantly continued taking notes on doxies.

The end of class wasn't too long in coming after that, and the Gryffindors began trudging off to the greenhouse to meet up with the Hufflepuffs. Harry glanced up at Ron. For the next hour they'd have Herbology together...then head up to their shared room to change, eat dinner together, study together, go to the D.A. meeting together...Harry had never noticed it before, since they always felt so comfortable around each other, but he, Ron, and Hermione really did spend an inordinate amount of time _together_. Now that Hermione was off in Bulgaria, and he and Ron were on tenterhooks, it felt unusually strained, spending every waking moment tethered to one another.

Besides, Herbology was easy, and he could make up what he'd missed in about five minutes.

"I'm skivving off," Harry said to Ron, feigning a casual tone of voice, "I think I'll work on some spells before the D.A."

"Oh, alright," Ron said, pausing as the rest of the class continued to sweep towards the greenhouse, and looking from them back to Harry nervously, "Err...shall I?..."

"No, that's alright," Harry said, "Go on ahead."

"Okay," Ron said, tentatively, "See you at dinner?"

"Not hungry, really," Harry said, already backing away, "But at the D.A. meeting, definitely."

"Alright," Ron said, a pained expression on his freckled features, "Listen, Harry—"

"Alright, see you!" Harry said, smiling determinedly, and turning towards the castle. He inhaled deeply through his nose, as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time. He knew Ron had been about to say something about the other night, and it made him feel hot and uncomfortable. He didn't want to know. Whatever Ron had to say really didn't need saying.

He had to clear his head. He couldn't wait to get to the Room of Requirement, to sink onto the blue mats that smelled vaguely of dust and trainers, and close his eyes for an hour or so. He quickened his pace, wanting to arrive before class started, so he wouldn't have to explain to Filch why he was wandering about the corridors instead of in the greenhouse, where he ought to be.

When he arrived, however, someone had already beaten him there.


	50. Chapter Fifty

Ginny Weasley looked up from her parchment and books, her chocolate brown eyes wide in surprise. The Room of Requirement had provided her with a large desk – almost comically large. She was practically dwarfed next to the huge stacks of musty books, sheaves of parchment, and outsize desk. The chair was equally large, and she had been swinging her legs before Harry had surprised her.

"Oh...sorry, did you...would you like me to leave?" she asked, looking a bit flustered.

"No, no," Harry said quickly, stepping in and closing the door. He'd been so caught off guard that he'd been standing in the doorway with one foot in and one foot out of the Room – not a good place to be if Filch came walking by.

"So...aren't you supposed to be in class?" Harry asked, looking around the room. All the Defense books were still on their shelves, but the mats had been neatly stacked, and there were a few potted plants, and a lamp right next to the desk.

Ginny blushed, and her cheerful, abashed grin reminded Harry of one of the twins. "Well," she countered, "I could say the same about you."

"I guess so," Harry admitted, "I just wanted to...get a head start. For the meeting tonight."

"Mm," Ginny nodded, and turned her eyes away. Harry sighed inwardly. She'd obviously seen right through his lie, and knew as well as he did that he was here to avoid Ron and try desperately to garner a few hours to himself.

"You know," she said, looking up at him earnestly, "I really will go if you'd like."

"No," Harry said, feeling a sudden and strange need for her to stay, "Please don't. I'm always...I'd rather not be..."

Ginny nodded and smiled. Harry felt extremely grateful that he didn't have to keep talking. "Want to help me with this? I'm doing that goblin research for Bill and Fleur."

"Oh, alright then," Harry said, glancing about the room. He saw a similar chair to Ginny's in the corner, and dragged it over. It reminded him rather strongly of the ones in the Weasley's old kitchen. Come to think of it...

"That's...that's the kitchen table, isn't it? It's not a desk at all..."

Ginny flushed slightly, and took her hair out from behind her ear so it fell in a red curtain, obscuring her face.

"You must miss it," Harry said, looking around him and mapping the Burrow onto the Room of Requirement. There would be the range...and there, the door. Mrs. Weasley's chair over there, near the clock...he realized he missed it, too, from the brief time he'd spent there.

"Yeah," Ginny said, quietly, "I've been sneaking here every once in a while. Sometimes I can make things happen...like this table, or I can make the hearth from the kitchen show up. Once it was my bedrooom...complete, with my bed and my dresser and everything. I tried to show Ron once, but he didn't like it. I don't think he likes to remember," she said, her face still partly obscured by her hair, "Then again, after the Brain Room, he's sort of gotten used to dealing with things by blocking them out..."

"We don't have to talk about it," Harry said, hastily. What was it about him that made girls miserable? He was sure his father hadn't...he and Sirius had probably had them rolling in the aisles.

"It's alright," Ginny said, smiling, "Have a seat."

"You've been working hard," Harry said, as he sat next to her, glancing at her note-scribbled pages as he reached for a fresh sheet himself.

"Yeah," Ginny said, with a grin, "I feel like Her...mione..."

She paled and glanced up at Harry anxiously, as though just realizing what she'd said. Harry actually chuckled.

"I'm sorry," she said, "That was really, really stupid –"

"It's alright," Harry said, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose as though the whole thing were quite silly, "You only said her name, I mean, it's not like...we're still..."

He trailed off. Were they still friends? She'd been angry when she'd left. But was she only angry at Ron? Or at both of them?

"Or only at me?" Harry thought miserably, "She always knows what I'm thinking, and I hardly ever know what she's thinking...I obviously didn't know what she was thinking about Ron..."

"Want to talk about it?" Ginny asked, gently.

Harry shrugged.

"She still loves you, Harry. They both do," Ginny said, simply, putting her hand on top of his.

To his horror, Harry felt his chest tighten.

"Just...well, maybe not in the way you'd like. I think that's part of why they kept it from you."

"Yeah," Harry said thickly. But just then a new thought occurred to him:

"Hang on...You knew?"

Ginny sighed, and leaned back as she put her quill down, and pulled her hair up into a sloppy half-bun.

"How long have you known? How long has it...since the beginning of the year?"

Ginny stayed quiet.

"Since _last_ year?"

"Well, Harry," Ginny said, eyeing him apologetically, "Didn't you think it was kind of odd how they had that big fight in fourth year, and then...nothing?"

"They've been sleeping together since fourth year?" Harry sputtered, his mind reeling.

"Of course not!" Ginny said, rolling her eyes, "It's just that, that's when everything got started I suppose. They wrote each other a lot that summer. And then of course, with everything that happened last year, it just brought them closer and closer together."

"But how long – "

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, who knows? Who cares? How is it our business?" Ginny snapped, "It's not like they give me a daily briefing. If you want to know so badly, why don't you ask Ron?"

"Sorry," Harry said, feeling abashed. It was pretty rude of him to drill Ginny for answers like that.

"It's alright, Harry," Ginny said, patiently, smiling at him again, "To be honest, I'm pretty sure it's not what you think. I don't think Hermione's the type to...well, I just don't think they'd do something like that. I imagine it has a lot more to do with comfort than anything else."

Harry's forehead creased. In his book, comfort was a pat on the back, not hopping into bed together, but then, what did he know about love?

"You forget Harry, you're not the only one who's had a rough couple of years," Ginny reminded him, gently, patting his hand, "I don't know for sure, but I reckon this first started happening after Malfoy attacked her."

"How do you know all this?" Harry asked, incredulosly.

"And how did I miss all this?" he added, to himself.

"Well, after it happened, I talked to Parvati and Lavender about her...they said she kept having nightmares. And then later, when I asked if she was still having them, they gave each other a funny look, and said they didn't know. And the way Ron was behaving...I just sort of...put it together."

Harry sighed. "I feel a bit stupid that you figured it out and I didn't. I mean, they're supposed to be my best friends."

"Harry, you have to remember, I'm Ron's sister," she said, giving his hand a squeeze, "I can sort of read him...the way I can read you. I guess it's just growing up in a house full of boys."

"Maybe that's why so many guys like you," Harry said, tickling his chin with his quill thoughtfully, "Because you understand us."

"Not _so_ many guys!" Ginny said, her eyes flashing indignantly.

"I didn't mean it that way!" Harry protested, sincerely, "Really! I _never _think of you that way."

But this also seemed to have been the wrong thing to say, because Ginny's indignation morphed into a befuddled, wounded expression, and she suddenly turned back to her work.

"Ginny, come on," Harry said, putting his head in his hands desperately, "Whatever I said, I didn't mean it. I'm at my wits end here. I'm afraid I've lost my two best friends over something stupid, and I don't want to lose another one."

Harry felt a small hand on his, and looked up to see Ginny smiling at him gently, as though he'd said something silly. She looked so familiar...

"I've already told you, Harry. You haven't lost anybody. Listen, Ron's just freaking out a bit because he never really felt he deserved Hermione, and the way you reacted sort of confirmed his worst fears. You and Hermione have such a strong relationship...he feels intimidated by it. He'll come around, eventually. Hermione is worried sick that she's betrayed your trust beyond repair, and at the same time, she just wants to be happy herself, so she's all mixed up right now...and you..." Ginny added hesitantly, piercing him with her chocolate brown eyes that he couldn't look away from, "Well, you're a bit...mixed up about her, aren't you?"

Harry swallowed, and nodded. Ginny paused for a second.

"You know, Harry...I can't give you the answers on that one. But..."

She sighed, and looked away for a moment, her red hair shining softly in the light of her desk lamp. She turned back to him, smiling wanly.

"Well, let me just put it this way: No one is leaving you. Not Hermione, not Ron, not me, not anybody. We all love you too much."

The knot in Harry's chest began to untangle in a way that still hurt, but felt good at the same time – like laying down after a hard Quidditch practice, or the way Fawkes' singing made him feel. Suddenly it really did seem that everything would be alright. He looked up at Ginny's face gratefully, and she looked so calm, and comforting, the way she was smiling at him. Her nose crinkled slightly when she smiled, and her freckles bunched together. Stray wisps of red were falling out of her sloppy half-bun...he could just picture her absent-mindedly pushing them out of the way...

He decided to do it for her...

"Umm...Harry..." she said, her voice hesitant, a caution.

But before he knew it, Harry had put his hand behind her neck, and he was kissing her.

It was completely different from his kiss with Cho. That had been awkward and terrifying and wet and so unexpected that he'd been sort of paralyzed at the time. It had been exciting, of course, since it was his first kiss, but the more Harry thought on it, later, the more he realized it had been pretty awful.

This...

He could sense Ginny stiffen at first, but suddenly it was as though something had come alive in her, and her arms were pulling at his clothes, gathering him close to her, as they attacked each other desperately. Harry breathed in her familiar smell of wool sweaters and flowers and fresh clover, and the wind over the Quidditch pitch. Her mouth was so soft, her breath hot...she made a small noise in the back of her throat, and Harry felt as though he'd go mad, and maybe everything he'd been worrying about would just go away...Voldemort, Ron and Hermione, Dumbledore, the whole school, everything, would just take a vacation and let him have something for himself, just for himself, just once.

He tilted his head, and kissed her jaw hungrily, then pulled her hair to one side, and traveled to the soft skin under her ear. She was saying something, her voice making her throat hum under his lips. What was that?

"Harry," she said, "Stop."

No, he couldn't have heard her right.

"Mm?" he murmured, burying his face in the crook of her neck as though hoping he could hide there.

"I said stop," Ginny said, pushing him away, gently. To his horror, Harry heard her voice shaking.

He looked up, and his worst fears were confirmed – Ginny's eyes were shining.

Ice water flooded his stomach, and his face, by contrast, began to slowly heat to the temperature of his Potions cauldron.

"Bloody hell," he said, and turned away quickly.

"It's not fair, Harry!" Ginny said, desperation in her voice, "I keep telling myself I'm over you...you can't keep...it's not fair!"

Bugger.

"I know, Ginny, I know. I'm so sorry," Harry said, squinting his eyes shut, "It's just..."

"I know what it is, Harry, believe me, I know what it feels like to want someone, and they don't want you back," Ginny said, wiping her eyes. She didn't sound angry...just deeply upset, and Harry almost wished she'd get angry at him.

"But it can't be like this. I can't just go ahead and...just because you need me to fill some hole that Ron and Hermione left."

Harry's jaw nearly hit the table. The ice water surged uncomfortably.

"Ginny...is that what you think this..."

"Isn't it?" Ginny asked, her eyes still shining, "It's Warm Body Syndrome! Everyone and everything is so messed up right now, how can you possibly know what you want?"

"Warm...what?"

Harry stammered helplessly. He suddenly felt so stupid. He ought to know what "Warm Body Syndrome" meant, he shouldn't have to have Ginny Weasley explain it to him like he was some naive first year. He was utterly hopeless – he made girls cry just by kissing them! He should have known he wouldn't be normal at "girls," he wasn't normal at anything else...

"You've never wanted me before. You didn't want me just a month or two ago! Why now? Why this, all of a sudden?"

Harry sighed. She was right...she had to be right. What else could it be? He kicked himself mentally. How could he do something so selfish? It was wrong of him. Wrong of him to want things like...

He didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," he said, "It was a mistake. I'll never do it again. I promise."

"Oh, Harry!" Ginny said, sounding truly distraught, "That's not what I..."

"No," Harry said firmly, "I understand. It wasn't fair of me to take advantage of you like that."

Ginny looked crestfallen, but she laughed a watery laugh anyway.

"'Take advantage of me?'...you sound like my Mum."

Blimey.

"Now there's an image I wasn't expecting," Harry thought grimly, as he imagined Mrs. Weasley's furious gaze being directly squarely at him, her eyebrow arched menacingly, as though to say, "Just what precisely, have you been doing with my _only_ daughter?" Forget about the phalanx of red-haired older brothers...

Ginny's laughter caught Harry by surprise, and brought him abruptly back to reality.

"You don't need to look so terrified, Harry, it was just a kiss."

"Right," Harry said, feeling somewhat back to normal, and a bit put out at the same time. Just a kiss? It really must have been awful.

"Well, I promise not to, err, misbehave anymore," he said, feeling somewhat back to normal, and somewhat disappointed to be so.

Ginny didn't reply but nodded and smiled strangely.

"Well, shall we try and make some more headway on this?" Harry said, indicating the books in front of them.

Ginny gave the same strangled smile and nod, and they returned to their work.

The awkwardness of those first few moments quickly disappated as they got involved in their work. Harry had never really paid much attention in History of Magic, but he'd never before realized just how many goblin rebellions there had been throughout history. It seemed every hundred years or so, the goblins got fed up and rose up. Hostilities would cease, with the Ministry (or king, or Council, depending on what era it was) would promise to do something about whatever was bothering them...unfair taxation, or segregation, for example. Some minor decree would be passed, which was later overturned, or ignored, depending on its importance. And the cycle would continue.

After another hour, Harry leaned back and squinted, rubbing his eyes firmly, until he saw spots.

"I know," Ginny said, leaning back herself, and rotating her neck back and forth. Harry could hear it crackle dully, "There's so much."

"What kind of detail do they need? I mean, they might as well read the books themselves."

"They don't have time," Ginny said, suppressing a yawn, "They just want to be well-informed when they meet with them, I suppose. You know, names, dates, facts and figures...things like that."

"Which 'them' do you suppose they're meeting with?" Harry mused, "Griphook and the other Gringotts goblins? Or is there a separate group?"

"Well, I've read there's a colony over near Salisbury," Ginny said, eyeing a stack of books she'd already read, "But it was an old book. They might not even be there anymore, they've been resettled so many times."

"That's really disgusting," Harry said, firmly, his jaw set in anger, "How the Ministry just...shoves them around like that."

Ginny looked up at him, taken off-guard by his sudden outburst. Harry's mind traveled back to his cupboard under the stairs, to the oppressive neatness and normalcy of Privet Drive.

"No one should have to live where they don't want to," he said vehemently.

Ginny smiled.

"What?" Harry asked, a bit annoyed.

"Nothing," Ginny said, still grinning, "You err...just sound a bit like..."

"Oh no," Harry said, now grinning himself, "What's next? Society Promoting the Rebellion of Angry Goblins?"

"SPRAG? I like it," Ginny said, grinning mischievously, her freckles bunching at her nose, as she tucked one leg under the other, "How about GAG? Grassroots Anarchists for Goblins?"

"How about Promotion of United Kingdom Elfhood?"

"PUKE?"

They went back and forth until Harry was almost in tears from laughing so hard. He sighed deeply, as he wiped his streaming eyes. Ginny was staring at him oddly.

"What?"

"It's good to hear you laugh," she said, earnestly, resting her chin on one hand, "I just wish you'd get rid of those." She jutted her chin upwards towards Harry's face.

"What, my glasses?" Harry asked, "I kind of need them."

"No, not your glasses silly. Whatever you did to your eyes."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, still chuckling. If this was a joke, it wasn't terribly funny...he couldn't really see where Ginny was going with this.

"I mean the color, silly. Don't play dumb. What is it, a glamour? Or those muggle things? Tonks was telling me Muggles could put those things in their eyes now that change their color..."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, beginning to feel really nervous.

Ginny's eyebrows raised.

"Your eyes, Harry...they've been hazel for months now. I first noticed it at the Halloween Party, but I thought that it was just—"

Harry interrupted her, and stood quickly, glancing around the room.

"Mirror," he thought, desperately, "I need a mirror."

Sure enough, he turned around and found one on the wall behind him that he'd never noticed before.

Ginny turned in her chair slowly, her freckles standing out against her ashen face.

"You mean to say, you didn't know?"

Harry crossed the room slowly, looked up into the mirror, and nearly jumped out of his skin – it was as though his father was looking back at him.

"How could you not notice?" Ginny asked from behind him, her voice shaking.

It was possible, Harry reflected, as he gawked at himself, open-mouthed. It was possible he wouldn't notice. He never really looked in the mirror anymore...his hair did whatever it was going to do anyway, and the mirrors in the sixth year boy's room were on the wall to the left of his bed, just past where Ron slept...his view of it was blocked by Ron's bed.

Hadn't Hagrid mentioned he looked like his father? And Lupin? Even Ron and Hermione had mentioned something was different, though none of them could put their finger on it. Really, how often do you wander around staring into people's eyes, checking that they haven't changed color?

"Ginny," Harry asked, slowly, "What color are Parvati's eyes?"

"What color are?...err...Brown? I think?"

"And how about Lavender's? Or McGonagall's?"

Ginny was quiet, and didn't answer. Harry stared at himself wild- (and hazel) –eyed in the mirror. It was definitely possible. But how? And when? Did this have something to do with his father?

"Maybe we somehow traded places," he thought wildly, "Maybe...a Time Turner? Or is this some bizarre, recessive wizarding gene or something? That your eyes change color?"

Harry's thought were interrupted as the door creaked open, and Luna Lovegood poked her head inside.

"Oh," she said dreamily, "I'm not the first one, after all."

Ginny and Harry exchanged a meaningul, worried glance as she floated in, Neville in tow. It would have to wait.

"This is nice," Luna said, stroking the fronds of Ginny's desk fern tenderly, "Is it poisonous?"


	51. Chapter Fifty One

While Ginny assured Luna that no, her desk fern was not, in fact, poisonous, and the rest of the D.A. members dribbled into the Room of Requirement, Harry spent as much time as possibly glancing at the mirror out of the corner of his hazel eye, and trying desperately to fathom what had brought about this sudden change.

"Or not so sudden," he realized, with a start. Ginny had commented on his eye color as early as the Halloween Ball...Party...whichever.

"I'm fairly sure they were green before I left for Hogwarts," Harry thought, racking his brain, although he was far less certain than he would have liked.

"Err..."

Neville's voice was curious, uncomfortable. Harry turned and realized with a jolt that most of the D.A. were assembled, and were now patiently waiting for him to snap out of his reverie and begin. He took a quick headcount to ensure that everyone had arrived – everyone with the exception of Hermione, of course. And...

"Where's Ron?" Harry blurted out, surprised.

The Gryffindors shifted nervously – word always traveled fast in the school, but something as juicy as his fight with Ron and Hermione would rip through Gryffindor like wildfire.

"Nevermind," Harry said, as breezily as possible, "I guess we'll just get started."

But he felt a slight pang of loss – he'd never had a D.A. meeting without Ron or Hermione before.

"Right. Split up into two even groups."

Everyone eyed each other for a moment, and hesitantly started milling about.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Electra Bellanova said, dividing them with a gesture of her hand, "Here, just draw a line down the middle of the room...yes, there you go."

The upperclassmen chuckled slightly...Electra was a bossy little fussbudget, but they could all remember Hermione's first year, as well, and if there was anything they could say for the both of them: They got the job done.

"Thanks, Electra," Harry said, though he too, was smiling to himself, "Alright, here's the plan – everyone on this side –" He swept his arm over to the left, "Is Death Eaters. And everyone on this side –" He swept his arm in the opposite direction, "Is...well, is us. I think we ought to just have it out today. Sort of a drill."

"Err," Neville said, raising his hand nervously.

Harry checked an impatient sigh. "You don't have to raise your hand, Neville."

"Right, sorry," Neville said, hesitantly lowering it, "Aren't there any – what are the rules?"

"Right," Harry said, "Death Eaters, please don't do anything worse than a Stunner, obviously? We'll just assume if you get hit with it that it's something much nastier."

The assembly tittered nervously, and the two "teams" eyed each other with wary grins. Harry noticed that some of the first and second years looked genuinely alarmed – clearly, they'd never imagined actually using these spells in a combat situation...most of them had probably joined to get better Defense grades, and to defend themselves from the occasional bullying Slytherin, or possibly because they'd heard the D.A. was the "cool" club on campus.

"Better they learn to be afraid of it now, when it's safe," Harry thought resolutely.

"As for everyone else," he continued, "Use all the defensive spells we've been working on here. Again, nothing too nasty – no permanent damage, alright?"

"What are we supposed to do for cover?" asked Hannah Abbott, resourcefully.

"Good thought!" Harry said, and cheered inwardly, "Remember, it's not all about magic – putting an obstacle between you and a Death Eater is just as useful, if not moreso. Why don't we..."

He turned around, and was surprised to see that Ginny's desk had disappeared, but was replaced with several classroom desks and chairs.

"We can use those!" Dean said, pointing, "We'll scatter them around the room..."

"Someone move the bookcases with me," Seamus said, nudging one closer to the middle of the room.

In a short while, the bookcases, desks, and chairs were scattered around the blue mats, and everyone was gathered at opposite ends of the room, nervously fingering their wands, and licking their lips, or working cricks out of their necks.

"Alright," Harry said, and he could feel his own adrenaline surging, "Everyone ready?"

He made eye contact with Ginny, across the room, who was a "Death Eater." They shared a brief moment of eye contact, and he knew they were thinking the same thing:

"This is so surreal."

"_Go!_" Harry shouted, and immediately threw himself behind a bookcase. Immediately spells rang out in forty-odd different voices:

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Silencio!"_

"_Protego!"_

"_Bombarda!"_

"That was Aaronson," Harry thought idly, as one of the chairs went flying pointlessly across the room, "Got nervous and said the first spell that came to mind." He reflected, a bit anxiously, that this might get dangerous – that chair might've hit someone in the head...

"_Meducapelli_!" called Luna dreamily, and Parvati shrieked in annoyance, before returning with a loud, "_Stupefy_!"

"_Gah_!" cried Neville ineloquently, apparently unable to think of a spell, and Harry poked his head out from behind the bookcase, just in time to see Neville leap in front of Luna, taking the jet of red light in the shoulder, and falling with a thud to the mats.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at Parvati, who crumpled gracefully to the floor, her silky hair having been tugged out of its braid.

"_Expelliarmus_!" cried a voice to his right, and his wand went spinning out of his hand.

"Arthur," Harry groaned. Aaronson was decidedly sloppy under pressure – he must have heard him cast the stunning spell, and just assumed he was a Death Eater...They should have been drilling like this sooner...

"S-s-s-orry!"

Harry peered out from behind the bookcase again, and narrowly missed a stunner from Broderick Johnson. He braced himself, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, and in one fluid motion, dove for the other bookshelf, tucking and rolling so that he came to an abrupt stop behind it, snatching his wand up from the ground.

"Show off," Zacharias said dryly, quickly reaching his wand arm out from behind the bookshelf, and tripping Broderick with an Impediment jinx.

"Jealous, are we?" Harry shot back, with a cheeky grin, his back to the bookshelf. He leaned to his left, craning his head backwards over his shoulder, and finished Broderick off with a hasty "_Stupefy_!"

Zacharias simply grinned and snorted in reply, and ducked out from the bookshelf again to cast another spell, but never got the chance – a well-timed stunner from Ginny sent him flailing backwards to the mat.

Harry glanced up and down the ranks – already, their side was down by half.

"Time!" he hollered, "Stop!"

Instantly, the shouting stopped, and Harry stood up, taking stock of who was left.

Two thirds of the entire D.A. lay prone on the mats, and all the remaining students, both "Death Eater" and "D.A." alike, staggered out from their hiding places, looking decidedly shaken.

Dean Thomas lay in a heap at the other side of the room, along with Parvati and Hannah. Surprisingly, Arthur Aaronson had made it through, but he looked absolutely ashen as he gaped at Electra Bellanova lying face-down in front of him.

Luna was kneeling next to Neville's motionless form, staring at him contemplatively, as though he were a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. Harry felt slightly nauseous, and had a disturbing sense of déjà vu.

"Of course," he realized, "When Nott snuck into the school with the Polyjuice Snackbox." He vividly recalled Nott-disguised-as-Neville lying on his back, a dreamy expression on his face, the veins of his face blue with the cold of the Dementor's Kiss...

"Oh, Neville," Luna said, and Harry was surprised to detect an actual emotion in Luna's voice. He shuddered.

"Well," he said, after a brief pause, "Let's get Ennervating."

They revived everyone quickly, and if Harry thought the "survivors" were shaken, the "victims" were doubly so.

"You mean, I didn't _make_ it?!" Dean stammered, incredulously, after they'd woken him up, "I..._wow_."

He sat with his arms resting on his knees for a moment, staring off into space, contemplatively.

They spent the rest of the time drilling, trading sides every so often. By the end of the hour, Harry noticed everyone had gotten much faster, and much better at staying out of harm's way – the battles were lasting longer, and less spells being thrown about, with a lot more blocking and dodging in their place.

"I think that's enough for one night," Harry said, wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. Most of the Quidditch players were breathing lightly, but Arthur Aaronson was sweating profusely, and Hannah Abbott needed to cast two Bronchius charms for her asthma.

"So, err...let's clear out, then," Harry said, as nobody had moved. Looking slightly put out, Parvati and Lavender began collecting their things, and the room drifted first to their piled bookbags, and slowly to the door. Normally the end of D.A. meetings were occasion for cheerful gossip, especially amongst the girls, while everyone took it in turns to sneak back to their dorms. But Harry had his own reasons for wanting everyone to clear out. He noticed Ginny lingering towards the back of the crowd, too.

"Ginny," Harry muttered, "See if you can find Ron for me, would you?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes suspiciously, as though to say, "Trying to get rid of me?"

In the end, her concern for for Harry and his disintegrating friendships outweighed her need to talk to him about his changing eye color, and she nodded.

"I'm around," she said, meaningfully, "If you want to talk about it."

Harry simply nodded gratefully, as she left the room along with Neville and Luna.

"...being silly," he heard Luna say, in a soft, dreamy voice.

"I can't help it," Neville muttered bashfully, as he held the door for her. He was about to leave, when he stuck his head back in.

"Alright, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry lied cheerfully, "Never better. See you in a few."

Harry could see in Neville's face that he didn't believe him for a minute, but like Ron, Neville knew how to give Harry his space. Harry reflected that he and Neville had something in common – they hated being the center of attention, and preferred to duck out of sight to think things through. As the door clicked shut, Harry realized he had many more friends than he'd ever thought possible.

He jolted himself out of his reverie, and returned immediately to the mirror, opening his eyes wide. By way of experiment, he held one lid open and gingerly poked himself in the eye.

"Owch," he muttered. Well, that was brilliant.

He examined it again in the mirror – no change. His left eye was simply now a bit pinker than his right.

He tried squeezing his eyes shut tightly, and then opening them again, and then blinking rapidly. On a wild, exuberant hunch, he pointed his wand at the mirror, and shouted, "Finite Incantatem!" but his eye color didn't change – it wasn't the mirror.

"No," he muttered aloud, "Ginny saw it too. It can't be the mirror..."

He pointed the wand at his own face, flinching slightly, and willing himself to keep his eyes open.

"Finite Incantatem," he said again, firmly, and immediately checked the mirror again.

"Hmph." Still hazel.

He knew it had something to do with his father – it had to be. His eyes were the exact same shade as his father's, down the golden flecks in the warm, brownish amber. If this was just some kind of fluke, what were the odds that his eyes would turn that precise color?

He pondered vaguely whether this had something to do with his mother, rather than his father. He'd always been told he had his mother's eyes – had something changed? But Harry could find no logical link any more than he could to his father.

"Think," he said to himself, pushing his fist into his forehead, and kneading it with his knuckles. Did he know any other wizards who could change their eye color?

"Well, Tonks," Harry said. His mind wandered back to their conversation early last fall, where she had told him that most wizards needed some kind of spell or potion to change their physical features. Maybe it was a potion?

"But who could have slipped me..."

But Harry trailed off, his mouth suddenly going dry.

"Did you ever make anything happen?" Hagrid's voice echoed in his head, "Something you couldn't explain?"

The disappearing glass...he'd never thought about it before, but that had been really advanced magic – it wasn't easy to make things appear or disappear. And that time he'd ended up on the roof – he must have Apparated...only of-age wizards were supposed to be able to do it.

He'd found out in his second year that he was a Parseltongue...another unusual gift that he'd always had, lying dormant – never having an opportunity to use it, not even knowing what it was, he'd never known it was there...yet he'd used it as a child, without even realizing he could...

That time his aunt had cut his hair...

...and it had grown back overnight.

"I need to read about Metamorphmagi _now_!" Harry said aloud, and there was a thud from across the room, as a heavy book fell to the table.

Harry raced over, and read the front cover: "So You Think You're A Metamorphmagi."

"This is crazy," Harry whispered, as he leafed through the pages. He stopped at a particular chapter heading: "Testing for the Metamorphmagus Ability."

"This is crazy," Harry repeated, feeling as though he might fall apart at the hinges – he couldn't be an Metamorphmagus...

One passage lept out at him: "...genetic, and thus, shape-shifting often runs in families."

His father had been an Animagus...

"Animagus?" Harry questioned out loud, the word sparking a memory.

McGonagall's class – he'd stood at the front of the room, trying desperately to become an animal, repeating in his mind...Animagus..._Animagus_! But all he could think about was –

"Prongs," Harry said quietly, to the empty room, "Dad..."

From across the room, Harry looked into the mirror again, and saw his father's hazel eyes gleaming back at him.

Harry slowly closed the book, and walked back over to the mirror, staring himself directly in the face.

"Here goes nothing," he told himself. He closed his eyes, and concentrated with all his might on his mother's green eyes.

He opened his eyes, and was disappointed to see they remained the same golden-hazel hue.

"Maybe I'm wrong," Harry thought, and he was torn between relief and disappointment.

"What," he told himself viciously, "Did you think you'd be good at everything? Are you that arrogant?"

He took a deep breath. One more go. Just...just to see.

He closed his eyes, and thought back to the Mirror of Erised, the first time he'd ever really gotten a good look at his mother. He thought of her warm, sympathetic smile...her flaming red hair...and mostly he concentrated on the soft shine of her green eyes...drowing in them, his heart begging for her...

"_Metamorphmagus...Metamorphmagus...Metamorphmagus..._"

Harry opened his eyes, and sputtered in shock.

Not only were his eyes back to their "fresh-pickled" green, his hair had gone completely red.

He staggered away from the mirror, nearly stumbling over a chair, still overturned from their earlier D.A. practice.

"This isn't real," Harry said, pinching his arm severely, "Wake up. Wake up, now."

But it was no dream. Some bizarre male hybrid of his mother and father was staring frantically at him from the mirror, dressed in his clothing – it was like seeing a distant cousin. The only thing recognizable in his face was the jagged scar on his forehead. Slowly, Harry's fear subsided, and he began to wonder what else he could do.

"Who do I know best?" Harry asked himself, and the image of a groggy Ron stretching and yawning in the morning came to mind.

Harry closed his eyes, and flooded his mind with memories – Ron grimacing after a poor Quidditch practice – Ron surreptitiously sneaking a glance at Hermione – Ron's ears reddening as Malfoy insulted his family – Ron leaping onto his bed on Christmas Morning, his blue eyes sparkling – his white skin, dotted with freckles – the firm set of his jaw.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, and gasped.

Ron Weasley goggled, open-mouthed from the mirror across from him – even Harry's lightening-bolt scar was practically invisible, obscured by Ron's freckles.

Harry examined himself a bit more critically. No, there were still some things wrong – Ron wasn't nearly as slender as this. And his nose wasn't quite so aquiline – it was longer.

Harry decided to focus just on Ron's nose, and this time, he kept his eyes open for the transformation.

"_Metamorphmagus...metamorphmagus..."_

He realized he was frowing in concentration, and he realized why Tonks always squinted before she transformed.

Then, as easily and suddenly as if he'd moved a finger, his nose stretched a bit further, and widened slightly.

"I've got to find Ginny," Harry said aloud, turning towards the door and racing heedlessly out into the hallway. He knew he ought to be mindful of Filch, and probably ought to check the map, but he was too excited and too scared and too amazed to think straight or even to sit still. Besides, by now it was quite late, and Harry told himself, half-hoping and half-doubting, that Filch might even have called it a night.

He couldn't stop staring at his trembling hands, as he walked, turning them over and over. He'd gotten the long fingers right – but his nails were far too clean, and neatly trimmed, and there weren't nearly enough golden-brown freckles spattering the backs of his hands. He had his calluses from his Firebolt, but his hands were not nearly as rough as Ron's, from all the passing and goal-tending. He stifled an incredulous laugh at the strange newness of it all. When he got to the portrait hole, he paused for a moment, brought up short by the baleful eye of the Fat Lady. Could she tell?

"Took you long enough," she groused, "She's been sitting in there waiting for you, you know...Poor thing's in a right state. The others got back a half-hour ago, although seeing as you're all out _far_ past curfew, it hardly seems to matter, not that it's any of my business –"

"Nebulus!" Harry stammered, finding his voice, "Nebulus!"

"Yes, yes, alright," the Fat Lady said, irritably, and Harry stumbled through the portrait hole, scanning for Ginny.

It was not Ginny who he found waiting for him...


	52. Chapter Fifty Two

Hermione looked up from her place on one of the Gryffindor couches. Her suitcase sat primly at her feet, and she was still dressed smartly in her Hogwarts robes, her red and gold tie offsetting her shiny Prefect's badge. The rest of her, however, was a wreck. Her straggly hair had formed a frizzy halo around her head, and her nose and eyes were red-rimmed from crying. She looked absolutely exhausted.

Everything flew out of Harry's head at once and was replaced by concern – Hermione never fell apart like this. Well, at least not around him...and what was she doing back so soon?

"What's wrong?" he blurted out.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione bawled, rushing towards him, a mess of tears and tangled hair and reaching arms.

"Err," Harry managed to stammer, and before he could get out another word, her arms were around his shoulders, her lips finding his.

"NO!" Harry's brain screamed, and he abruptly pulled away, holding her by her upper arms, as ice-water flooded his trunk. His stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably. It had only lasted a second, but his whole body rejected the experience. His lower lip was moist, and he found that rather than pleasant, this was extremely disturbing.

Hermione looked up at him, tears still lingering in her eyes, a stricken expression on her face.

"Oh, Ron, don't! Please? Don't make me beg...I'm sorry, alright? There, I said it first. I just, when you didn't say anything, and...oh the whole thing was a disaster, Ron."

"Uhhh..." Harry stammered, a high-pitched, panicky whine running through his head. He felt as though somebody had pushed "pause" on his brain.

This was bad. Really bad. How was he ever going to explain this, now?

"We have to break it off," she said abruptly.

"What?!" Harry blurted.

The squirming, uncomfortable feeling in his stomach intensified...this was all his fault, somehow.

"Ron, please!" Hermione said desperately, tears blurring her vision, "Don't make this any harder than it is!"

"You can't – err, we can't," Harry stammered, "Why?!"

"Can't you see that this is killing Harry?" Hermione said, turning away from him, and plopping dejectedly on the couch, "It's as though he thinks we're going to run away and abandon him...He feels so betrayed that we kept this from him – and if he realizes we did it to protect him, he'll be even angrier. We can't desert him now, not when everything is about to happen."

She had articulated his secret fear...and the solution. It was exactly what Harry had been hoping for in his most selfish daydreams, but now that she had handed it to him so selflessly, he felt like an absolute heel.

"He's...he's alright," Harry said, hesitantly, "He'll come around."

Hermione sighed, and put her head in her hands.

"What did we say, when this first started between us?"

"Uhhh..." Harry stammered, "Well...we said a lot of things." Rats. How was he going to come up with anything?

Apparently though, this is exactly what Ron would have said, because Hermione simply rolled her eyes, and found his, an exasperated expression on her face.

"_Harry comes first_," she said, quietly but firmly, "You _know_ that, Ron."

Harry felt something constrict in his chest. The three of them had said it to each other before – that they would do anything for one another. But this wasn't like taking a curse for him, or going on a dangerous mission...it wasn't his life at stake this time. He couldn't believe that Hermione, or Ron for that matter, would be willing to make this deep of a personal sacrifice for him...not to save his life, but just to make sure that he was happy, and that their friendship remained strong.

"We'll be able to pick up where we left off," she said, almost pleadingly, "As soon as all this blows over, and Harry gets used to the idea. Ron?"

Harry's mind raced. He had to find a way to stop this.

"I think...I think Harry would just want us to be happy," he said, slowly.

"Well of course he would – even if it means he's miserable," Hermione said, with an exasperated sigh. Suddenly, she looked up at him, with a curious expression on her face. Harry shifted nervously.

"Do you have a cold?"

"Uh...maybe," Harry said evasively.

"You sound a little different," she said, shaking her head as though to dismiss the idea. She sighed deeply, and Harry stood there, every heartbeat thrumming audibly in his ears. Any minute now, she was going to put two and two together...any minute now, and our friendship is over forever...

She looked up at him, her expression pleading, exhausted.

"Do you hate me?"

Harry felt the familiar warmth and affection spreading through his chest. He smiled down at her.

"Who could ever hate you?"

Hermione's eyes opened wide, and her eyebrows leapt towards her hairline, as she looked at Harry with a bemused and slightly dubious expression.

"I mean, don't be stupid," Harry added, trying to emulate Ron's casual, reassuring tone of voice.

"What am I doing?" screamed a voice in the back of his head, "What on earth is wrong with me?"

"You still love me?" Hermione asked, insecurely, looking up at Harry. Harry had never heard her sound so..._young_ – not even when she was a first year...At the same time, he felt distinctly nervous, as though a trap were slowly closing around him.

"'Course," Harry said, evasively, his eyes darting towards the staircase.

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Say it again."

"I...love you," Harry said.

Even as he said it, the words rang hollowly, and he finally understood. Of course he loved Hermione – of _course_ he did. He just didn't..._love_ Hermione. He'd been so confused – after all, he'd never really had any true family before Ron and Hermione – the Durlseys certainly hadn't provided him with a good model of familial affection. And he'd never had any friends before Ron and Hermione either...It was probably a miracle that he even had the capacity for a friendship this strong. He'd never felt the kind of warmth and sense of belonging that Ron and Hermione gave him, especially after all they'd come through together...of course he would assume...

"How am I expected to figure all this out?" Harry thought, desperately.

"Ronald," Hermione said, and the floor of Harry's stomach seemed to drop down to his toes as he was jerked uncomfortably out of his musings. Her eyes were now narrowed into angry slits, and she had one eyebrow arched crossly, her arms folded across her chest. He knew what this meant – he'd never been on the receiving end of one of Hermione's blazing rows with Ron, and he didn't care to start now. He began inching towards the boy's staircase, feigning a yawn.

"I, err, better get off to –"

But Hermione reached into her sweater, and, tugging gently on the golden chain around her neck, shook out her bushy hair, slipping the necklace over her head. For one panicked, crazy moment, Harry thought she was going to pull out a Time-Turner. But she reached back, and flung a small, gray object at him from her spot on the couch. His Seeker instinct took over, and he snatched it nimbly out of the air – it felt cold in the palm of his hand.

"Bugger," Harry said out loud, examining the pendant in his hand.

It was the Veritastone necklace Ron had given her – and it was ice cold.

"We need to talk," Hermione said, flatly.

"Oh, bugger," Harry thought, desperately.

"Why have you been lying to me? Have you been lying this whole time? Do you not love me anymore?"

"No, Hermione, I—"

"And why are you calling me 'Hermione?'," she asked, standing slowly as the volume of her voice swelled ever so slightly, "You always call me 'Mione' when you're trying to get away with something."

"I...I said 'Mione,' didn't I?" Harry lied swiftly. The stone grew even colder in his grasp. Bugger.

"I don't even need the stupid stone, Ron, I know when you're lying to me," she said, fiercely, "Something is going on, and I'm _going_ to figure it out, so you better give me an explanation right now."

"Listen," Harry said, desperately, one foot on the stairs – Hermione had already backed him up to the foot of the staircase, "You're right. Something _is_ up."

"Of course it is," Hermione said, and she folded her arms in a superior way. Harry had to struggle to keep a smile down, despite the awkward situation – he knew that if he just soothed Hermione's intelligence a bit, he might be able to get out of this...

"I haven't...been myself, lately," he said, haltingly, "I'd...Let me sleep on it. Ask me again tomorrow, alright?"

He held the Veritastone out to Hermione. She didn't take it, but eyed him with the same wary, quizzical expression, her arms still folded defensively.

"It's a stare-down," Harry told himself, in a slightly panicked voice, "Like a hippogriff...Don't look away...don't blink too much...Keep eye contact..."

She squinted suddenly about an inch above Harry's eyes, "What's that on your forehead? Did you get into a fight? Is that was this is about?"

"Mione," Harry said, desperately, holding out the pendant for her to take, "I'll explain everything tomorrow. Just... please!"

He didn't dare cover up his scar. He tried turning his head slightly away from her to hide it. He desperately hoped that the dim light and the freckles would keep her from realizing what it was – thank goodness he'd been practicing Occlumency so diligently lately – it wasn't nearly as red and raw as it had been last year. And thank goodness he'd left his glasses in his pocket...

She took the Veritastone from him.

"I told you the first time we kissed, Ron," Hermione said quietly, "I don't know whether to believe you or not. I still don't know if you understand yourself how you really feel. I thought that maybe when you gave me this..."

She trailed off, leaving her conclusion unsaid. Harry's heart wrenched. He looked into Hermione's scowl, and he realized just how unsure she really was...she walked around like she knew everything, but in a way, she just couldn't believe that Ron had finally come 't believe that he could want her, love her...

Harry sighed, looked her in the eyes, and said the truest thing he could think of:

"I know I've been really mixed up lately. But really, I...I just want you to be happy, Hermione. I want the best for you...I want you to have all the things you deserve, and not have to worry all the time...I just want you to be happy."

There was a long pause, where Harry tried desperately to read Hermione's expression, beads of sweat prickling his back, and the back of his neck.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow," she said quietly, her stony gaze melting slightly. Harry had to fight not to heave a sigh of relief – he knew the stone had gone warm in her hand.

"But we are going to talk about it," she said sternly.

Harry nodded mutely. How was he going to fix this?

"Well, goodnight," she said petulantly, turning her head to the side.

For a second, Harry wondered why she wasn't going anywhere. Then, he realized, and stumbled down the steps again to give her a quick peck on the cheek. When Hermione turned to face him again, she was smiling slightly, despite herself.

"You great prat," she said softly, a gentle, somewhat pained expression on her face, "Go to bed."

Harry nodded, and raced up the stairs, his heart thudding painfully his ribcage – he felt as though he might faint.

He paused by the door to the sixth year boy's room, his ear against the oak – he could distinctly make out Neville's snore, but he couldn't hear Ron's. Hermione must have gotten in from Bulgaria a short while ago – she obviously hadn't seen Ron yet. Where was he?

Beginning to worry, and at the same time, hoping not to get caught should Ron be sitting awake, Harry pushed the door open slowly.

Luckily, everyone had already gone to sleep. Harry tiptoed across to his bed, and crept inside the covers. He shoved his glasses roughly back onto his face, noticing how strange they felt on his re-shaped ears, took the Marauder's Map out of his pocket, and cast a hastily whispered "Silencio!" around his curtains.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he unfolded the map, tapped it with his wand, and recited, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good. _Lumos_!"

His wand tip flared to light and life, as the feathery black ink crept, spider-like, across the page.

"Show me Ron Weasley," he said.

All the moving spots suddenly disappeared, and Harry saw one dot, restlessly walking back and forth at the Owlery.

"Show me Ginny Weasley," he said, and Ginny's own feet showed up near Ron's, taking three steps for every one of Ron's angry strides. Harry reckoned they were probably arguing – Ginny calling him on the carpet, perhaps, for missing the D.A. meeting. Harry began to feel badly that he'd sent Ginny after Ron – if he was up in the Owlery, he obviously wanted his space to think things over, or perhaps to send an owl to his brothers. He could probably count on the fact that Hermione would be asleep before he got back.

"At least he's speaking with _his_ family," Harry groused to himself, and was suddenly startled by the paleness and length of his freckled hands.

"This probably wasn't a good idea," he muttered aloud, turning his hands over and over. He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to go completely back...did he have to fix each feature, one by one? Would he "reset" himself overnight? After all, his eyes hadn't changed back...

More importantly, what did this mean? It seemed impossible that he could add yet another extraordinary ability to his already-unusual roster. Yet here he was, staring down at Ron's hands where his ought to be.

"As if I haven't had enough to think about," Harry thought, desperately.

_Think about_...

With a sudden panic, Harry realized he'd have to be extra careful with his Occlumency exercises tonight – this was one ability he didn't want Lord Voldemort to find out about. Come to think of it, he didn't want anyone to find out about it. He much rather wished he'd never found out he was a Metamorphmagus. He knew that he ought to tell Dumbledore straight away – but that would mean more lessons, more questions, more raised eyebrows – more attention. Besides, Hermione was bound to put two and two together – he just hoped it would take long enough so that all this would seem a bit more laughable and a bit less gut-wrenching. Ginny might have already guessed. If only he could just shrug, say, "who cares?" and go on with his life for the next few months.

The next few months...he might be dead in the next few months...

"Stop that," Harry said aloud. Time to focus on getting his own face back.

Laying back on his pillow, Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He concentrated on the reflection he'd seen in the mirror that night, in the Room of Requirement – his father's scruffy black hair, his scar, his thin nose, scrawny frame, his mother's emerald green eyes...

When he opened his eyes, he was inordinately relieved to see that his hands had gone back to their normal shape and color. As for the rest of him, he couldn't really say. He reached into his bed-side table, and took out a small framed photo of his parents. Holding it up to the wand-light, he could just make out his reflection superimposed onto their shining, laughing faces.

_His_ reflection – right down to the fresh-pickled eyes. Harry heaved a sigh of relief, and flopped backwards again. Apparently going back to your true appearance was much easier than trying to deviate from it.

Harry felt a brief pang as his mind wandered back to Hermione's stricken expression, her red-rimmed eyes...and then, with a feeling of suppressed anxiety, remembered her arched eyebrow, and suspiciously narrowed eyes...

Harry shook his head, and began to breathe deeply – he'd have to clear his mind. He had no other choice. He had to let it go for tonight, or it would be easy to find...

But mind insisted on wandering back to Ginny, in the Room of Requirement...the lamp light making streaks of gold leap out in her hair...the warmth of her breath on his face, the smooth softness of her skin...

Harry shivered involuntarily, and found himself grinning like an idiot at his bed hangings. A second later, he felt a bit disgusted with himself – he had, after all, just kissed his two of his best friends in the past twelve hours (although one wasn't technically his fault).

_That_ was yet another thing he'd certainly rather not share with anyone. He could just imagine what Rita Skeeter would do with all this.

He stifled a frustrated groan. Ginny had been right to push him away – he was an absolute mess. But at least he finally knew where he stood with Hermione...now where did he stand with Ginny?

"You're probably going to die in two months, anyway," he reminded himself, somewhat detachedly, "Can we please focus here?"

"Must do some m-more goblin research," he muttered through a stifled yawn, "Another letter to Orkishun...fin' Ron 'bout...Quidditch..."

He yawned again, clearing his mind determinedly. Enough for one night.


	53. Chapter FiftyThree

Harry woke slowly and fitfully, with his scar tingling ever so slightly. A voice…he'd heard a voice…Was he in the Department of Mysteries again? Or was it the Hogwarts corridor? Every time he tried to remember, it was as though he came up against a brick wall. He almost wished his scar would just outright hurt, if that meant he could remember…

"Ron?" he murmured, his voice crackly and deep with sleep.

"I think he already left," Neville's voice came, from behind the velvet hangings. Harry pushed them aside blearily, and reached for his glasses.

"You look awful," Neville said sympathetically, as he tried to shove his feet into his shoes while fidgeting with his tie at the same time, "Was it a bad dream?"

"Can't remember," Harry said, stretching.

"Well, that's a good sign, isn't it?" Neville asked uncertainly, "I mean…if it were anything bad, you'd…it'd be really clear."

Harry nodded vaguely as he went to his trunk and got his towel. He realized Neville was probably thinking, "If it were anything bad, you'd probably be screaming and thrashing and vomiting all over the place, like usual."

But Harry almost wished he had been – because he knew that Voldemort was planning something big – and the fact that he wasn't having horrible nightmares about it could only mean one thing – Voldemort was hiding something from him.

At the thought, "hiding something," all the events of the previous night came rushing back to Harry, from his "mistake" with Ginny, to his discovery of his Metamorphmagus ability, to the entire fiasco with Hermione in the common room, and he actually groaned out loud.

"What is it?" Neville asked, anxiously.

"Err – forgot to do my homework," Harry lied swiftly, which, he realized, was also very true. He was bound to do poorly this year. At least it wasn't NEWT year...

With yet another nervous realization, Harry reflected that next year _would_ be his NEWT year – and his very last year at Hogwarts.

"If I survive that long," the obligatory voice of doom chorused cheerfully in the back of his mind.

"I think I'll go back to bed," Harry muttered desperately.

Neville laughed sympathetically. "Shall I save a spot for you at breakfast?"

"Yeah, thanks, Neville."

With a groggy mumble, Dean rolled over noisily, and by now, they knew it to mean, "_Some_ of us are trying to get an extra five minutes, here."

Harry gave Neville a silent smile and nod, and made his way to the showers.

Clean, warm, and refreshed, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall, silently reminding himself to stay calm, and face the day as best he could - after all, he'd made this bed, and it was time to lie in it, whatever that meant. And really, they did have plenty of important things to focus on – maybe everyone would be so caught up in class work, and Quidditch, and the D.A., and all their extra work for the Order, that it would be like yesterday had never happened.

"If I just act normally," he dared to hope, "Maybe Hermione won't have figured anything out, and Ginny will just forgive me for yesterday, and maybe Ron will come around…maybe everything will just sort of go back to the way it was."

He spied the usual gang of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna sitting together, and made his way over.

"But you said –" Ron was saying, angrily.

"Ron, I told you! I must have dreamed it," Hermione said placidly, "Just let it go."

Ron snorted, and muttered to his eggs, jabbing at them with his fork.

"I don't believe it. We don't fight enough during the daytime, so she _dreams _that we're fighting…and now, we're fighting about it."

"Morning, Harry!" Ginny said, a bit over-cheerfully.

"Hello," Harry said to the table in general, feeling his nerves come seeping back in, "Err – what's going on?"

"Hermione says that I showed up in the common room last night and had a complete conversation with her," Ron said, belligerently, "When I was simultaneously in the Owlery talking to Ginny."

"What were you doing in the Owlery, in the middle of the night?" Luna asked, innocently.

"Mailing a letter," Ron said, stubbornly, his ears going slightly red. He met Harry's eyes, and glanced away, quickly.

"Ron, I already told you, it must have just been a really vivid dream," Hermione repeated. She looked up at Harry briefly, her expression unreadable.

"Well, that's not what you said when you were biting my head off this morning!" Ron said, helplessly, "All I say is, 'Oh, hello, when did you get in?' And before I know it, I'm being thrown to the wolves!"

"Ron, just drop it!"

"You know, Ronald," Luna said, with the air of someone pondering some very lofty academic theorem, "I've been thinking that your temper might actually be an allergic reaction to the color yellow. You might want to try dressing in purple more often – it's opposite on the color wheel. I could loan you a book on Prismahumorics, if you like."

"Mm. What's opposite _green_ on the color wheel?" Ginny asked, casually, making eye contact with Harry, and obviously trying to tell him something.

Harry was briefly confused, but suddenly he remembered – his eyes were green again! So Ginny must have realized he'd found a way to turn himself back – and that meant she'd want to know what had caused it, and how he'd managed to reverse it. What was he going to tell her?

"Red, actually," Luna said, "Although I don't think Harry would look very good in red. That is why you asked, isn't it?"

Ginny blushed, and looked down at the table.

"It's a lovely shade on _you_, though," Luna said, cheerfully, and resumed trying to feed Neville bits of omelet with her butter knife.

There was a brief moment where everyone paused to sneak surreptitious glances at one another and try to comprehend some of the many layers of subtext that were flying across the table. Harry could feel the heat of Hermione's stare. She had on the same suspicious, curious look she usually wore when she was doing her Arithmancy homework, or trying to solve a particularly interesting puzzle. Ginny was fiddling with her fingers clumsily, and Ron was sneaking glances between her and Harry, obviously very bewildered as to what was going on with everyone this morning.

"So, when did you get back, Hermione?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.

"Late last night," Hermione said, "When did you get back?"

"Hmm?"

"From the D.A. meeting. You must have been there awfully late. I didn't see you come in."

Harry cursed silently. She was on to him. She might not know exactly what had happened, yet, but she knew it had something to do with him.

"You should have been there, last night," Ginny said, obviously trying to change the subject, "It was…well, I guess you couldn't say it was cool…"

"It was creepy," Neville said, with a slight shudder, "But yeah, I know what you mean…Like something Professor Moody might have done…"

"What did you do?" Hermione asked, sounding a bit concerned.

The subject of their D.A. meeting ate up a few uncomfortable minutes. Even Ron perked up a bit, and seemed genuinely sorry he'd missed it. Harry went out of his way to smile at Ron, and try to reach across the chasm that had somehow grown between them over the past month or so.

"And then Neville saved me," Luna said, matter of factly. "It was very heroic."

Neville blushed. "It was just a Stunner. You'd all do the same for me."

"It was brilliant," Ginny said firmly, grinning at Neville.

Harry smiled, but still felt a bit unsettled by the image of Neville, and half of his friends, lying prone and motionless on the ground.

"How'd the trip go?" he asked Hermione.

"Ugh. Disaster," Hermione said, her tone instantly becoming quite frank, "Nobody was even remotely interested in coming to help. Well, why would they be? They still teach the Dark Arts at Durmstrang…like it's just another class. And the wizards who haven't gone bad certainly don't want to stick their necks out for anyone but themselves. The entire school is like the worst of Slytherin house. Maybe we should have tried Himmelicht School instead…"

"Plus, Krum is a complete git," Ron supplied, darkly.

Harry was expecting a defensive objection from Hermione, but to his surprise, she simply gritted her teeth, and said, "Yes, he is."

"What happened?" Harry asked, concernedly.

"He…" Hermione cleared her throat delicately. "He may have been confused as to the real purpose of my visit to Bulgaria."

"He wasn't 'confused,' he was being a complete git," Ron repeated, mashing his eggs mercilessly with his fork.

"Are you alright?" Ginny asked, concernedly.

Hermione smirked. "Let's just say, I took a page out of your spellbook, Ginny. I think he'll keep his hands to himself from now on."

But she sighed, and slumped in her chair a moment later.

"Unfortunately, it also means that I haven't got anyone from my trip to come and help. And Krum might not even come back, now."

"And what a shame that is," Ron muttered, with just a hint of a smirk.

"We need all the help we can get, Ron," Hermione said, but Harry noticed that despite her disappointment for the Order, Hermione's signature grin was creeping in the corners.

Harry wondered briefly whether Ron knew that he and Hermione were "off," at least temporarily. He had a feeling not – if that were the case, he would have been much more sullen and moody. He might have even avoided them that morning. On the other hand, they weren't making googly eyes at one another, or holding hands, or anything. Maybe this is the way they'd always been, that they'd already been trying to tone it down in front of him, and he just hadn't noticed…It seemed silly all of a sudden – even if they didn't act on it, their feelings for each other would be there, just the same. He wondered whether Hermione was planning on telling him they were "on a break," or whether she'd changed her mind. He found himself hoping it was the latter.

Just then, the school owls came winging their way into the Great Hall in a rush of feathers and hooting.

A barn owl winged low in front of Harry, struggling with a thick scroll, as large as a Sunday Prophet, and tied with twine. He dropped it unceremoniously in the middle of the table, and wearily began his ascent, heading directly to the Owlery for a rest.

"What is _that_ monstrosity?" Ron asked, completely surprised out of all sullen-ness.

"Dunno," Harry said, untying it cautiously. He recalled the hate-mail that had scalded Hermione's hands with bubotuber puss in their fourth year. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good news…

The heavy scroll unwound itself as Harry loosened the twine. As it did, a small note written in crisp, white parchment slipped out. Harry picked it up, and Neville looked over his shoulder.

"It's from the Ministry!" Neville said, excitedly.

"_Dear Mr. Potter_," Harry read, aloud:

"_Have received your letter. Enclosed, please find the House Elf Registry you requested. I feel much more confident leaving it in your hands. Please don't let me find that you (or any of your friends) have been owling apparel to the house elves' homes, as giving out this list could potentially get me sacked. As a matter of fact, please destroy this letter when you have finished it. _

_Sincerely,_

_Ms. Orkishun_

_Head of the Office of House Elf Relocation_

_(PS. Please do tell Miss Granger to stop writing.)_"

Harry winced. He didn't think Hermione would be pleased about that last line, but when he looked up, she was positively beaming.

"You see?" she said, excitedly, and Harry could tell that all thought of her argument with "Ron" had flown instantly to the back corners of her mind, "I knew it! If we just kept after her…"

"Err…I think it might have had a bit more to do with – owch!"

Ron never finished his sentence, and Harry had the distinct impression that Ginny had trod on his foot.

"Ms. Orkishun? As in, Florence Orkishun?" Luna asked, bemusedly.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said hesitantly, as though she were afraid Luna was about to confess that Ms. Orkishun was in fact a transfigured hinkypunk, "Why?"

"She's friends with my Dad," Luna said, dreamily, "She's quite a fan of the Quibbler. She must have read your article, Harry. Well, I suppose it's Rita's article…or the Quibbler's…or the Prophet's, really, now we've sold it…"

"Well, whatever the reason," Hermione said, her eyes shining, "We're finally starting to make some headway! We'll have to meet up with Dobby straight away – what are you doing during lunch?"

"Err," Harry stammered, tempted to say, "Eating."

"Yeah, I guess we could go down to the kitchens," he finished, trying to suppress a sigh.

"Great," Hermione said, cheerfully, "How's the Goodwill Game going?"

"Oh," Harry said, looking towards Ron. They made eye contact briefly.

"We haven't had much of a chance to talk about it yet," Harry said, truthfully.

"Well, why don't you two meet up after classes tonight?"

Harry waited for Ron to say something, but it seemed that Ron was waiting for Harry to say something as well.

"Actually, I was hoping we could finish some research on goblins tonight, Harry," Ginny said a bit apologetically, and he knew she was itching to find out what had happened to his eyes.

"But that should only take a half-hour or so," she added hastily. He realized she was also worried about he and Ron…

"That's alright, then," Hermione said lightly, as though this completely resolved the matter, "We'll visit Dobby at Lunch, and after Defense, you can go and work with Ginny for a bit, and tonight, you and Ron can discuss the Goodwill Games while we do homework."

"Just out of curiosity," Ron said, a bit of his old humor sneaking back into his voice, "Just how are we going to do homework and talk about Quidditch at the same time?"

"You usually manage," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"Quidditch! Bugger, we've got a match with Slytherin coming up, and I haven't even scheduled a practice yet," Harry said, rubbing his brow.

"Err," Ginny said, apologetically, "Katie booked the pitch for Saturday. Hogsmeade weekend's been cancelled, so it'll be a great time."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. On the one hand, he was embarrassed that Katie had had to do it for him, but for the main part, he was just grateful that they'd be able to get at least one more practice in before the match.

"Why's Hogsmeade been cancelled?" Neville asked, crestfallen.

"Why do you ask, Neville?" Hermione asked, a grin tugging the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, no reason," Neville said blushing, and grinning shyly, as Luna daintily helped herself to the rest of his breakfast.

"It's because the Hog's Head had to shut down. The owner's disappeared. Nobody feels safe there, anymore," Ginny said, sadly.

"What do you mean, 'disappeared?'" Harry asked, with a sinking feeling.

"Well, that's the sad thing really – everyone's pretty confident that something happened to the owner of the Hog's Head," Ginny explained further, "That he got attacked, or abducted, or something. Everyone else has just run away, we think. But some of them didn't tell anyone they were leaving, so there's a possibility that more people have been 'disappeared.'"

Hermione's brow wrinkled, "How do they know that the owner of the Hog's Head was attacked?"

"The mark," Ginny said softly, "It was hanging over the Hog's Head for almost an hour, until the Aurors arrived. The only reason it's not in the Prophet, is because the Ministry wants it hushed up. Bad for business," she added, bitterly.

"Do you think they'll send us all home?" Neville asked, quietly.

They all sat with the question for a moment. Harry realized that Neville was probably just as reluctant as he to leave Hogwarts – at least here, he was away from the haranguing of his grandmother, he had friends, and even a girlfriend, he supposed. And at least here, Harry could be with his friends, his only friends – away from the Durlseys, away from another long, lonely summer missing Sirius –

"Dumbledore won't send us home," Harry said firmly, trying to believe it as much as he could, "He'll want to keep the school open as…as long as possible."

He finished lamely, realizing that even as he spoke, he was admitting that when things got rough enough, Dumbledore was eventually going to have to send students home. He remembered the conversation he'd overheard between McGonagall and he in his second year…they'd considered closing the school for the Chamber of Secrets. McGonagall had said it would be, "the end of Hogwarts." Compared to a full-scale assault from Voldemort, and an army of Death Eaters and Dementors, Harry felt like slaying a basilisk and jamming a fang into a book were relatively easy fixes by comparison.

"I'm staying," Ron said, squarely, so that everyone jumped – they'd all been lost in thought, and Ron had hardly spoken since Harry arrived.

"Of course," Ginny added, speaking for all of them.

"Whoops," Luna said, casually, "Class has started."

"What?!"

Everyone was jolted out of their reverie, and as they looked around them, they saw that the majority of the Great Hall, had indeed, cleared out. Only Goyle, Millicent Bullstrode, some other Slytherin Harry didn't know, and a gaggle of gossipy Ravenclaws remained.

Hermione was already half-way out the door.

"Come on!" she shouted, anxiously, and darted off to class.

"I've never seen her move that fast," Luna said, idly.


	54. Chapter Fifty Four

Harry and Ron arrived, panting at their History of Magic class, completely undetected by Professor Binns, who was now in full-drone. Indeed, only two or three members of the class noted their arrival, the rest either gazing desperately out the window, writing notes to one another, or napping behind their books. Seeing as Binns used the same notes every year, Seamus had just asked Katie to borrow her notes from last year. A few quick Copyquills later, and none of the Gryffindors in lower-level History of Magic had to take notes for the rest of the year. Hermione had chewed their ears off when she found out, but when they had argued that Binns was essentially employing the Umbridge school of lecturing, and that none of it stuck anyway, she simply sighed, and let them get away with it.

Normally, this would allow for Ron and Harry to sit cheerfully in the back and write notes to one another. Today, however, they weren't quite sure what to do. They sat down, took out their notebooks (for show) and Ron began fussing with his quill, stripping away the stray bits of feather from the bottom.

Harry pushed his notebook over, and began scratching out a note:

"I know Hermione said to do it tonight, but want to start hammering out Quidditch details?"

For a while Harry thought that Ron was purposefully ignoring his note. He read it out of the corner of his eye, and continued to preen his quill. Harry was about to slide his notebook back over and scowl for the rest of the lesson, but Ron reached over.

"If you want."

That wasn't exactly the enthusiastic response he'd been hoping for. Harry was beginning to wonder exactly what it would take to get Ron to open up to him again.

"When?" Harry scribbled.

"Dunno," Ron wrote back, "Before Slytherin match?"

Harry nodded. An All-Star game was not going to be much fun, if three of the four houses had just lost the Quidditch Cup, and Slytherin was strutting about smirking.

"Only if they win!" Harry rebuked himself mentally, but he had to admit, he was already feeling doubtful. He'd been a somewhat lousy captain this year, to tell the truth, and with half the team in the D.A. and doing side work for the Order, nobody in Gryffindor seemed to be placing too high a priority on Quidditch.

Ron nudged the notebook into Harry's arm, and he realized he'd been lost in thought. He looked down, and read:

"Not your fault. We'll see what happens."

Harry nodded vaguely. It was nice of Ron to say, but he could sense the disappointment behind his scrawly block print.

"Hogsmeade's cancelled," Harry scratched out, "How about Saturday?"

The Gryffindor team had been planning a practice for that Saturday, so at least they knew they had the pitch booked…Maybe they could still meet a bit before hand, do some drills…

"Good," Ron replied, "How about teams?"

"Volunteer," Harry wrote, "First ones to sign up in each position."

"We can post it in the Great Hall," Ron scratched back, "I'll pass a note to Dean, ask him to draw up a flier and a sign-up sheet." Harry was relieved to see that Ron looked a bit more relaxed, and seemed to actually be getting into the idea.

"Good idea," Harry scribbled, smiling. After a brief pause, he risked, "Chess tonight?"

Ron hesitated for a moment, and then scratched out a hasty, "Sure."

Harry smiled. The hesitation had hurt a bit, but it was a start. He wished things could just get back to normal between them, but maybe they never would – at the very least, this was a marked improvement over mutually ignoring one another.

Ron hastily scribbled a note to Dean with the details, and after folding it into a tight little wad, did a hasty bit of transfiguration on it, so that it sprouted six legs and scuttled off the desk, landing with a bump on its back. Ron nudged it right side up with his toe, and it scuttled off towards Dean's chair. After reading it, Dean flashed them a thumbs-up, and immediately took out a fresh sheet of parchment and began sketching.

"We can post it between classes," Harry muttered, and Ron nodded.

As usual in History of Magic, the end of class was forever in coming, and it seemed like hours before Seamus abruptly closed his notebook, and the class galvanized. Professor Binns continued to drone, even as students stood and made for the door, only stopping when he finally reached the end of his notes.

"Finally!" Ron grunted, stretching his arms above his head.

"Oi! You two!" Dean said, taking a few running steps to catch up with them, "I didn't have time to do any color, but I did some cross-hatching. Is this alright?"

"Wow!" Harry said involuntarily.

Dean had done quite an intricate job – A Ravenclaw Beater aimed a Bludger at a Gryffindor Chaser, while a Hufflepuff and Slytherin Seeker vied for the Snitch. They were all shaded to look three-dimensional, and they darted excitedly about the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, smiling broadly at one another (although the Slytherin, to be fair, had his back turned most of the time.)

"You're really talented, mate," Ron said.

"Did you do that, Dean?" Hermione said, walking up to the group of them and peering over Ron's shoulder.

Dean stammered, and rubbed a spot on his neck shyly, "The proportions all wrong on that Beater…and his head's at a funny angle. Plus, I still can't get them to turn properly, I'm not so good at getting them to move yet…"

"It's brilliant," Harry said, beaming. Dean made it look like so much fun – they'd have no trouble getting people to sign up.

"Hang on," Hermione said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "That means that you lot were working on Quidditch when you were supposed to be –"

"It's for the Order! Besides, we always use your notes anyway," Ron said, and then added hastily, with feigned concern, "We'd better go hang this up quick, or we'll be late for Potions."

Hermione's eyes narrowed even further, but as Ron had calculated, her urge to be prompt overrode her urge to scold them, and the three of them set off for the Great Hall, thanking Dean again for the art.

They reached the heavy oak doors to the Great Hall, and Ron held the poster up.

"Bit to the left," Hermione said, "Higher. Higher up, Ron!"

He turned his head and scowled at her silently, one eyebrow arched.

"There. That's fine," she said, blushing slightly, "_Affixo_!"

When Ron took his hands away, the poster stuck of its own accord.

"No magic in the hallways, Mudblood," drawled a familiar voice, "I think I might have to report you to McGonagall. Won't she be disappointed?"

"She's always disappointed when she's forced to listen to you whine," Harry retorted, hotly.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione said coolly, darting a warning glare at Harry that was all-too-easy to read: Stay calm. Don't rise to his bait. Normally Harry would bristle under her mothering, but he remembered all too vividly that night in the infirmary, the night he'd seen his wand glow green…that sobering through brought his temper abruptly to a halt.

"Hello yourself, Granger," Malfoy hissed, leaning on one of the oak doors with his arms crossed, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, as usual, "Will you be attending the game? Don't often see you around the Quidditch Pitch, anymore. Why is that, I wonder?"

"I'll be there," Hermione said, through clenched teeth.

"I'm looking forward to it," Draco replied with a smirk.

"If you even come near her," Ron whispered, his ears glaring red, "I'll –"

"Temper, Weaselby," Malfoy replied, "How could I do anything if I'm playing?"

"You?" Harry said, with a disbelieving snort, "Since when do you care about inter-house unity?"

"I don't," Draco sneered, "Just put me down as the other Seeker."

Harry's stomach sank, and he felt a burst of annoyance towards Draco Malfoy in addition to his own personal distaste – now the entire Goodwill Game was going to be reduced to yet another petty grudge-match between the two of them, and most likely, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry knew when they put up the list that there were going to have to be some Slytherins for the event to mean anything – but Draco Malfoy would not be his first choice to participate.

"Come to think of it," he continued to drawl, lazily, sensing he had the upper hand, "Why don't you sign Crabbe and Goyle up, while you're at it?"

"Fine," Hermione said, coolly, surprising all present by writing their names in neatly, "What positions would you like to play?"

"Uhhh," Goyle said, nonplussed.

"Beaters, of course," Draco said, trying to regain the upper hand, despite his surprise.

"Good. See you Saturday," Hermione said, crisply, standing her ground.

"Fine," Draco retorted, overcompensating a bit with his sneering, "See you on the pitch, Potter."

"Yes, that is where one generally plays Quidditch," Harry said, wearily. Ron snorted with suppressed laughter, and Harry's heart jumped happily in his chest – he'd made Ron laugh! Maybe they would be friends again…

Draco stalked off, and Harry turned sadly to the poster, whose two columns now read:

Hogwarts HinkypunksHogwarts Hippogriffs

Draco Malfoy, Seeker

Vincent Crabbe, Beater

Gregory Goyle, Beater

"Great," Harry muttered, "How much do you want to bet Malfoy runs and fetches the rest of the Slytherin team?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Hermione said, raising her hand to the poster, "You two are just going to have to play on his team."

"What?!" Ron sputtered.

"Do you care about Hogwarts all?" Hermione shouted, wheeling on them suddenly.

"Well, yeah, but –"

"Was this whole idea just some excuse to go out and play Quidditch, or were you really trying to help?"

"Hermione, I was really –"

"Look, we all know Malfoy is an insufferable piece of…work," Hermione said, restraining herself, carefully, "And probably dangerous to boot. But if we're meant to bring this school together, we're just going to have to lead by example."

"Easy for you to say," Ron muttered, "It's not you up there having to deal with him."

"No, its me under the bleachers," Hermione hissed quietly.

There was a pregnant pause where Ron turned very red.

"I have just as much of a reason to hate him as either of you two," Hermione said, a bit more gently, "But if the situation was reversed, and I was one of the school's Quidditch darlings, I would do the right thing."

After a pause, Ron sighed wearily.

"'Course you would," he muttered, "You always do the right thing. Here, give me the ruddy quill."

He took the quill from Hermione's hand, and wrote "Ron Weasley, Keeper," underneath Goyle's name.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, passing it to Harry, "Here goes nothing, eh?"

Harry nodded, and grimly wrote his name underneath Ron's.

"Hang on," he said, interrupting himself, and making a slight blot on the parchment, "We've already got a Seeker – what am I supposed to do?"

"You'll have to be a Chaser," Hermione said, pensievely, "All the other positions are taken."

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, echoing Ron's earlier sentiment. He'd never even had a go at the hoops before. What if he made himself look like an idiot? On the plus side, he supposed Draco would hate him for sabotaging their team, but that wasn't really the goal of the event either…

"It'll be fine," Hermione said to them both, soothingly, "He said he wanted to play Seeker, didn't he? If he's doing his job, he'll have no reason to interact with either of you."

"He'll find a reason," Ron muttered, as they turned their feet towards Potions. His expression suddenly cleared a bit, and he bumped Hermione's shoulder accidentally on purpose, with a nervous grin at Harry.

"You think we're 'Quidditch darlings?'"

Hermione flushed bright red, and refused to comment.


	55. Chapter Fifty Five

They were interrupted, however, by the sight of Professor Snape storming through the entrance hall. Seeing as Snape never missed an opportunity to make a snide remark, Harry braced himself for a particularly searing insult, or threat. But Snape swept past without even seeing them, or any of the other students, apparently. They heard the heavy creak of the door, and soon Snape was swooping back in the direction he'd come, this time, followed by two figures wearing heavy black hoods.

For a split second, Harry's heart froze over – were they Dementors? But no…these figures walked. And their hoods were not ratty, and did not waft in invisible wind, but hung closely at their sides.

"Who on Earth?" Hermione muttered.

"I think I might know," Harry said, "And if I'm right, we won't see their faces."

But as the shorter figure turned in their direction, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of blood-red lips, hidden in the shadow of the black hood.

"You don't…er…_know_ those people, do you Harry?" Ron muttered.

"Not personally. But I think we've met," Harry said. He filled them in on his encounter with Mieva Pamira and her companion, Louis, carefully leaving out his suspicion of their being vampires – as much as he didn't like Snape, and as creepy as he found his friends, he figured that was not his secret to tell.

Hermione seemed to have already guessed, at any rate. "No wonder they were wearing hoods," she muttered, "Risky to be walking about in broad daylight."

Harry thought that it was odd she should be so quick on the uptake about some things, and so slow on the draw on others – like the fact that it had been he, not Ron, who she'd been arguing with in the common room last night…

"I imagine he's escorting them to the dungeons even as we speak. No windows," Harry whispered.

"Figures Snape's mates would be just as creepy as he is," Ron muttered, "On the other hand, I'm sort of amazed he has any friends at all."

"I don't think they're friends," Harry said, lowering his voice, "I think they're here to help with the Order."

"That lot?" Ron said, startled, "They look more like Death Eaters to me…"

"The world isn't divided into good people and Death Eaters," Harry said, quietly, and the trio fell silent. Sirius had told them that last year.

"Come on, we'll be late," Hermione said, breaking the silence, and the three followed where Snape had headed, down to the dungeons.

There was no sign of Mieva Pamira or her friend in the Potions classroom – not that Harry had really been expecting them to sit in the back of the classroom, but Professor Snape was late, which hardly ever occurred, so he assumed that they must be hiding nearby.

Harry wasn't sure how the Potions lesson would go – he hadn't had a good track record with Snape recently. First, he'd discovered he was a half-vampire, and then, at their last Occlumency lesson, they'd glimpsed Voldemort's plan to attack Hogwarts, and Sybil Trelawney had burst in to deliver a second half of the Prophecy to Harry.

He wondered vaguely, with a sense of incredulity bordering on the ridiculous, if any of this was going to affect his grade.

But Snape, much as he had last year, decided to completely ignore Harry during the lesson, and again, Harry was delighted to find that he could clear his mind and focus on the potion at hand with relative success. He hated to admit it, but he could almost see what Snape found appealing about it – the exactness of it, the simplicity. There were rules, and they had to be followed – he wished the rest of his life were so easy.

Mentally shaking himself, he reminded himself he'd probably been spending too much time with Snape poking about his brain, and set to work once more.

He managed to hand in his sample just moments before class ended.

"Potter," Snape said, silkily, "Do not think that some minor, precursory improvement is going to excuse you from your Remedial Potions lessons. I expect to see you at the same time this afternoon."

Draco, as usual, smirked smugly at Harry from his desk, but there was that certain edge there that Harry hadn't noticed until this year – something desperate, and mean. A bit taken aback, Harry simply nodded to Snape, and walked stiffly out of the dungeon, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Can you believe him?" Harry ranted to Hermione later, as they walked to lunch.

"Err…maybe you weren't listening, Harry," Hermione said hesitantly, "For Snape, that was practically…nice."

"He did say you'd improved," Ron piped up, and it was the fact that Ron was uttering five words to him at once more than anything else that made Harry feel better.

"Harry!" waved Ginny as they entered the Great Hall.

"Oh," Harry said, his stomach rumbling uncomfortably, "I forgot."

"We'll save you something for later," Hermione said, reassuringly, "Ron can bring it to your Divination class. I'm sure Firenze wouldn't mind."

Ginny caught up to them, "Hey, have you seen the sign-up sheet yet? I'm a Seeking for the Hippogriffs!"

"Really?" Harry asked, his expression brightening, "That's great, Ginny!"

"I think it's all filled up, by now," she said, "Let's go look before we start research."

"Yeah," Harry said, feeling his mood lifting already, "Err, see you guys later."

"Bye," Hermione said, with a signature sneaking-in-the-corners smile.

"See you," Ron said, raising Harry's spirits even higher.

Harry followed Ginny hurriedly to the poster, and found that all the positions had been filled. The poster now read:

Hogwarts HinkypunksHogwarts Hippogriffs 

Draco Malfoy, SeekerGinny Weasley, Seeker

Vincent Crabbe, BeaterAndrew Kirke, Beater

Gregory Goyle, BeaterJack Sloper, Beater

Ron Weasley, KeeperAngus Bletchley, Keeper

Harry Potter, ChaserCho Chang, Chaser

Katie Bell, ChaserRoger Davies, Chaser

Zacharias Smith, ChaserErnie MacMillan, Chaser

"Excellent!" Harry said, excitedly, "It looks like the houses are all split up pretty evenly. Who's that Bletchley fellow? Isn't he –"

"Slytherin, yes!" Ginny replied, animatedly, "That's what's so exciting about it! He's friends with that tall seventh year…you remember, the one who stopped you in the Great Hall? Lots of them reckon Malfoy and his lot have chosen the losing side…I wouldn't call them fans of yours, but it seems they're really willing to try for some inter-house unity!"

"That's really great," Harry repeated, scanning the list again. He was pleased that Sloper and Kirke were Hippogriffs…Crabbe and Goyle were much larger and stronger, which would give them an advantage. He was temporarily shocked to discover he'd been thinking of any association with them as an advantage...

"So," Ginny said, "Shall we head over to the Room?"

"Oh…sure," Harry said, nervously. He still hadn't decided what, or how much, he should tell Ginny about his metamorphmagus ability. Besides – the last time they'd been in the Room of Requirement alone together, odd things had happened…Come to think of it, both of his "real" kisses (Hermione's didn't count, he figured) had occurred in the Room of Requirement.

"Probably jinxed, that place," Harry thought sulkily, "All girls who enter get the uncontrollable urge to burst into tears and then snog."

"Or maybe _I'm_ jinxed," he muttered aloud.

"Hmm?" Ginny hadn't heard him, as she was waving hello to Hannah Abbott at that particular moment.

They reached the Room, but had to pretend to be chatting casually for several moments, so stragglers could make their way to class. When the coast was clear, they walked past the Room, several times, but Harry was finding it hard to concentrate on anything but Ginny, and his growling stomach. When they finally entered the Room of Requirement, Ginny laughed aloud.

"You must be really hungry!"

A stack of sandwiches and a frosted pitcher of pumpkin juice were waiting for them on the table, along with fresh parchment and the stack of books on goblin wars that Harry recognized from the last time.

"So," Ginny said, closing the door behind them, "What happened?"

"Oh…you mean with my eyes," Harry said hesitantly, seating himself at the desk.

"Of course! Was it a hex? Or was it something to do with your mother?"

"Err…"

Harry stalled for time, staring at his feet. If he told Ginny, she'd probably feel she had to go to Dumbledore…or worse, she'd simply stare at him like he were some kind of freak, or wunderkind, which would be even worse.

Wasn't he, though? Between his corporeal Patronus, and his Parseltongue, and his budding Occlumency and Legilimency skills, wasn't he something of a freak? Normal wizards couldn't do all this…maybe on of them, or even two, but not all of them…

He didn't feel proud, or accomplished, or special – if anything he felt like he'd grown an extra head.

"Harry," Ginny said, softly, and Harry looked up to meet her soft brown eyes, "I'm used to keeping secrets. I know Hermione, and the first thing she'd do is probably run directly to Dumbledore, or at the very least, tell Ron. I'm good at keeping secrets. If you don't want this to leave the room, it won't."

Harry felt such a wave of sudden relief, that he had the urge to confess everything to her, immediately.

"I'm a metamorphmagus," he blurted, "like Tonks. I'm sorry. I don't know why I can do all these things – I'm a freak, and it's just one more reason for Dumbledore to raise his eyebrows and stare at me without really explaining anything. And everyone will probably discuss it, and the whole Order will have another bloody meeting about _me_, and debate what it means, and how I should use it, and I'll have to take 'Remedial Transfiguration' lessons from Tonks, and it's just one more thing to make me different from everybody else," he finished in a rush.

Ginny's eyes widened slightly, and Harry looked at his trainers and blushed. He hadn't quite meant to say that much…

"But you are different, Harry," Ginny said, gently.

"I don't want to be different!" Harry said, vehemently, and he didn't realize how strongly he wished this until he was saying it, "I'm tired of being a freak! I wasn't a normal Muggle, and now I can't even be a normal wizard…Being the Boy Who Lived is exhausting enough, but you saw how everyone reacted when they found out I was a Parselmouth –"

"Which saved my life," Ginny interrupted, folding her arms, as though bracing for battle.

"And you saw how Susan Bones was goggling when she found out I could make a corporeal Patronus –"

"She was just impressed, Harry. And by the way, that 'freakish' ability saved your life, and Hermione's life, and Sirius's life," she said, and then stopped herself abruptly, looking as terrified as though she'd set off a bomb.

"Yeah. Well, seeing as I also cost Sirius his life, I don't suppose that counts," Harry muttered.

"Harry."

The one word contained the truth…Harry knew she was right, that it wasn't his fault, but at the same time, blaming himself felt better – it was easier. Easier to shoulder the blame and hate himself, than to realize he had no control, that things were at motion so much larger than himself…

"I don't think you're a freak, Harry," Ginny said softly, her face drawn with concern, "But I do think you're different from everybody else. And I don't care. We all love you, just as you are."

"But that's just it!" Harry said, putting his elbows on his knees, and leaning forward to meet her earnest gaze, "Everyone only cares about me because I'm different – I want people to care about me just because…well, just because!"

Ginny smiled, "You're funny."

Harry blinked owlishly. "I'm what?"

"Funny," Ginny said, and her freckles bunched at her nose as she smiled, "It's just, I hear Ron complaining all the time about how everyone else is so different and special and he's so bloody average. And he just doesn't understand that everyone loves him just because…and here you are, complaining that you're so special, wishing that everyone would just love you because. What you don't realize is that you're both wrong, and you're both right."

"Ah," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "We're both wrong, and we're both right. Thank you, Professor Trelawney…"

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, and Harry laughed aloud.

"What I meant, is," she continued, trying to look severe, but grinning nonetheless, "Ron _is_ special. Isn't he?"

"'Course," Harry muttered. He felt a bit ridiculous talking about his best mate that way, but Ron was special – wasn't he what he "would sorely miss" in the Second Task of the TriWizard? Harry knew better than almost anyone how special a person Ron was…

"And you're _normal_, Harry, in so many ways," Ginny said, smiling, "Trust me, I grew up with six brothers. You worry about things, and go to school, play sports…you have friends, and family…you're crap with girls," she added, thoughtfully.

"Hey!" Harry said, scowling, but Ginny just laughed.

"Don't get offended, look at Ron, he's crap with girls, too. Then again, most boys are."

"Thanks for your overwhelming vote of confidence," Harry said, feeling heat creep up his neck. This conversation was getting too close to home for comfort. "Are you speaking from experience, here?"

Ginny laughed, "I guess you have a point – I did do a lot of dating last year…"

"I was just taking the mickey," Harry said, concernedly, "I didn't mean to –"

Ginny waved him off, and made a face as though to say it didn't matter.

"The point is, Harry, that both you and Ron feel like you need to change in order to be worthwhile people…and you refuse to believe that people are right to care about you, or believe in you. But they are…and they do."

Now it was Ginny's turn to blush, and look away. Harry caught himself observing her again – she'd worn her hair down today, the way she had in first year, with a strand from each side of her face pulled back. She was so different from when they'd first met – her face was fuller, and her frame, though she was still quite short. She perched on the chair across from him, one leg tucked casually under the other, fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater. Harry thought she was perhaps the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.

She cleared her throat nervously, and ventured, "Can…can I see?"

"Hmm? Oh, sure."

Harry felt a bit nervous. He'd never tried to do this on command before, let alone in front of someone.

"Err, what shall I do?"

Harry spent the next half-hour changing noses, just as Tonks had done, much to Ginny's delight and amazement. He managed a broad one, like Lee Jordan's, and then did Hermione's pert button nose, and even Snape's beaky hook. When he finally managed to put his nose back to its proper shape (after a few panicked failures) Ginny began pinching and running her fingers over it, a scientific scowl of curiosity on her face.

Harry laughed aloud, partly at her expression, and at the awkwardness of having her paw at his face.

"Err, please, go ahead."

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Ginny said, laughing and blushing as she withdrew her hand, "I should've asked first, or something."

"No, it's fine!" Harry said, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed very funny. He felt a warm pressure swelling in his chest, something he hadn't felt in a while – he was happy.

"Well, we didn't get much work done," Ginny said, eyeing the stack of books woefully.

"We still have some time," Harry said, glancing at the clock that had suddenly appeared on the wall, "Let's have some sandwiches and get another couple inches done for Bill and Fleur."

"Alright," Ginny said, pushing up her sleeves, "Oh, and Harry?"

"Mm?"

"You don't need to worry."

She met his eyes, and he again felt as though he'd stepped into the sunlight as she beamed at him reassuringly.

"I won't tell anyone until you're ready. I promise."

When Harry breezed into Firenze's Divination class ten minutes late, he felt as though a helium balloon had filled up his chest, making every step lighter.

"You look happy," Ron said, warily.

"Yep!" Harry said, flopping down to the enchanted grass of the fake forest. He suddenly seemed to realize something was out of synch – students were chatting animatedly with one another. Some were making the pretense of studying their Divination notes, others were simply gossiping or playing gobstones.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, searching for Firenze, and finding him staring into a pile of rocks with a serious expression on his face.

"Dunno," Ron said, "He just told us to spend the class however we felt like."

"Really?" Harry asked, his face becoming a mask of concern, though inside, he was still so happy from his lunch with Ginny, and over the fact that he was now having a full-blown, casual conversation with Ron, that he doubted he'd care if Delores Umbridge had decided to adopt him.

"Yeah," Ron said, scowling nervously, "I think we'd maybe better go try and talk to him."

"Sure," Harry said, a bit too energetically, and scowled like Ron, to counter his tone of voice.

The two made their way over to the shady corner of the room where Firenze was kneeling. For a while, neither of the two said anything. Harry observed the hoof-shaped bruises still peppering Firenze's chest.

"I could not make them understand," Firenze said, without looking up, "They did not want to hear it from me. A traitor to my herd…"

Mrs. Black's cries of "blood traitor" rang in Harry's ears, and he found his cheerful mood sliding slowly into anger.

"Then they're just being really stupid," Harry said, firmly, "Don't worry, Firenze. They'll all know we're right in time."

Firenze looked up at him, and Harry wasn't expecting his look of slight disdain.

"It is no longer a matter of who is right or who is wrong. Though, ironically, you are correct to say so. They will all know we were right, Harry, and soon. I am only concerned for the safety of my herd, and for the safety of the school."

Harry felt a bit abashed, and decided to hold his tongue for a while.

"Do they not believe you?" Ron asked, timidly, "Or wouldn't even listen?"

"Both," Firenze said, "They will not fight. They will not come to the aid of humans. It is not their way. I told them that the centaurs must serve others to save themselves, but they would not listen. Dark things have lurked in the forest before – they are content to let them pass, so long as they do not interfere with their ways, or their laws. They do not understand that they will not receive the same courtesy from Lord Voldemort."

Harry observed Firenze's deft fingers gently, almost lovingly caress and rearrange the stones in front of him. He thought he recognized several squiggly symbols on them from Hermione's Ancient Runes textbook.

"Why aren't we doing any work today?" he asked, quietly.

"Because there is little point," Firenze said, and did not elaborate.

"What do you See?" Harry pressed, even more quietly.

Firenze remained quiet for a while, his long-fingered hand continuing is slow and elegant dance over the stones scattered in the grass.

"Death," Firenze said, "and Rebirth. Change. Painful change. I see Fire. And I see it happening soon. Sooner, I think, than we suspect."

Ron shifted uncomfortably, "But, the second part of the Prophecy has the exact – "

"I know what the Prophecy says," Firenze said, quietly, "You should know Ronald, that I am not yet making any judgement. You asked what I Saw," he said, his cold eyes meeting Harry's, "and I told you."

Harry felt a chill run down his spine, and felt even worse when he thought he detected a flash of his own nerves lurking in the tension of Firenze's shoulders, and the strain of his voice.

There were other signs that the castle was slightly out of sorts. When Ron and Harry arrived for their Defense class, Hermione was waiting for them, along with a confused gaggle of D.A. members.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Shh," Hermione said, and only then could Harry hear Lupin's voice ringing out from the closed classroom door, and the dull murmur of students' voices…young voices, it sounded like.

He looked again at the door, and found a note tacked there, in Lupin's tidy script:

"Fifth through Seventh Years – am taking the day to review _Protego_ and _Expelliarmus _with younger years. I'd like two feet of parchment explaining the difference between passive-defensive spells (i.e., Protego) and aggressive-defensive spells (i.e., Leg Locker Curse), a comprehensive list in each category, including pros and cons. Please practice as much as you can. (Please see me or Ms. Granger for guided practice sessions.)

"Two feet!" exclaimed Neville desperately, who had just arrived, and was reading over Harry's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Neville. You're in the D.A., you'll do fine," Hermione said, reassuringly, "I'll help you if you need it."

"No," Neville said, mopily, "If I don't do it myself, I'll never remember."

"Guided practice sessions?" Harry asked Hermione, his eyebrow raised.

"He means the D.A.," Hermione said, "Or private lessons with him, I suppose. I personally would like to work on my Patronus a bit –"

"Your Patronus is fine," Harry said, distractedly interrupting her preening, "They really think students are going to be attacked?"

Hermione, who Harry had never seen at a loss for words, simply shrugged uncomfortably. After an uncomfortable pause, she recommended that they head to the library and get a jump start on their essays, and everyone present agreed, a bit too loudly, that that was a splendid idea.


	56. Chapter Fifty Six

Even Harry's Occlumency lesson with Snape was different that day – for some reason, Harry had no trouble blocking Snape out. For a while, he thought that perhaps the Potions master had decided to go easy on him, but then realized that no such event was ever likely.

He had just managed to squeeze Snape out of a particularly nasty memory of Dudley's taunting, in what had to be record time, when Snape grunted in annoyance, and sat abruptly behind his desk, and seized a stack of parchment for grading.

"Fine," Snape said, grudgingly, "Next week, then."

Harry knew that meant he'd done well – extraordinarily well. No, it didn't seem as though Snape were trying to go easy on him…why was it suddenly so easy to block him out? Harry was beginning to get the distinct impression that that the entire school was on some kind of heightened alert.

"Finished already?" Hermione asked, when he stepped into the common room. She was seated on a couch surrounded by papers on either side, while Ron and Ginny were studying in an armchair on either side of her – it seemed they were all doing work for the Order, rather than their homework – Harry had never seen Ron work so hard on regular homework.

"Yeah," Harry said, "You want to go visit Dobby?"

He almost added, "Get it over with," because he had the distinct feeling that Hermione was up to something. Something in the way she'd engineered his entire day, and the brisk way she stood and closed her notebook. The look Ginny and Ron shot each other wasn't comforting either.

They made their way to the kitchens in silence for a while.

"So, Occlumency went alright?" she asked gently, trying very hard, and failing, to sound like she wasn't nagging.

"Fine. Great, actually," Harry said, with a frown.

"Well…that's a good thing, isn't it?"

He explained about how easy it had been to defend his brain from Snape.

"Well, that's wonderful, Harry! You're improving!"

Harry nodded and didn't say anything. When they arrived at the still-life, Harry reached up to tickle the pear, and they soon were greeted with a warm, fragrant blast of heat from the ovens and the dishes being washed magically.

"Ugh," Hermione said, wafting the steam out of her face, "It's like a sauna. Deplorable work conditions."

"It's a kitchen, Hermione," Harry said, smiling patiently.

"Harry Potter sir!" squealed a delighted voice, as Dobby came scampering over. He had abandoned his shirt due to the heat, and wore a lurid pair of bermuda shorts, two pairs of socks, and a tennis sweatband around his head.

"Hello, Dobby!" Harry grinned.

"Dobby is working very hard, Harry Potter, and Miss! Dobby is writing to elves all over England! Dobby's poor knuckles are creaking from writing so much!" he said, grinning eagerly.

"Don't push yourself too hard, Dobby," Hermione interjected, anxiously.

"Are any of them coming to Hogwarts, Dobby?"

"Not many, Harry Potter, no," Dobby said, shaking his head, his tennis-ball eyes gleaming sadly, "Most of them is coming from Pureblood families, sir…they is thinking they is better off there."

"Can't say I blame them," Harry said, sighing.

"But not all!" Dobby said, brightening up.

"How many elves are coming, Dobby?" Hermione asked excitedly, "Did they say?"

"Five!" Dobby beamed, his bony ribcage swelling with pride.

"Five?" Hermione repeated weakly.

"Dobby's sister-in-law," he said, counting off on his spindly fingers, "Dobby's niece and nephew, one cousin, and Winky."

"Winky?! Winky was already here!" Hermione said. Harry felt a twinge at the disappointment etched on her face…he didn't think it was a good time to mention that Winky would probably be less than enthusiastic about defending Hogwarts from Death Eaters.

"Oh…Miss is right," Dobby said, shuffling his feet, "Four, then."

"It's okay, Dobby," Harry said, hurriedly, lest Dobby decide to punish himself for not getting enough recruits, "You did great. When are they coming?"

"As soon as they can, Harry Potter! They is belonging to not-nice wizards!" he shuddered, "Not nice wizards at all! They is bound to keep their secrets! But they is promising, Harry Potter, to try and disobey as much as they can!"

Harry nodded. It was only after Sirius told Kreacher to "get out," that he'd been able to leave…Dobby's family was probably waiting for some similar vague instruction to make their escape. But thinking about Kreacher still made the anger churn quietly in his gut, so he pushed it out of his thoughts.

"Well, thanks Dobby…we tried," Harry said, warmly.

"Yes…keep up the good work," Hermione said, feebly, "Is there anything we can do? Maybe Harry and I ought to write…"

"Oh no, Miss," Dobby said, his green eyes going wide, "If you is writing to them, miss, the bad wizards will know! They will read them, miss! Dobby knows secret ways he can talk to his family, and send messages – ways only a house elf would know."

"Well, if you're sure," Hermione said, sounding as though she very much didn't want to leave it at that.

"Thanks again, Dobby," Harry said, a bit more finally, and taking the hint, Hermione followed him out, amidst warm goodbyes from the crinkled elf.

"Well, that's disappointing," Hermione said, as she turned left down a corridor.

"At least they've been warned," Harry sighed, "They might not be ready to leave now, but if they ever need a safe haven, they know Hogwarts is open to them."

"That wasn't exactly the idea, Harry," Hermione frowned, suddenly turning left, "I agree, of course we should welcome any house elves that want to stay, but what we really need is help!"

"Err – Hermione…Where are you going?" Harry asked, bemusedly, "Gryffindor's this way, Miss Prefect."

"Come on," she said, "I wanted to talk to you."

Oh, no.

Harry had heard those words before, but never in a good context. "We need to talk," or "I want to have a word with you," or "I have something to say to you," was almost never followed by good news. What was it? Had she figured out that he was a metamorphmagus? Or was she going to ask him something about Ginny? Or worse, about that stupid night when he'd stupidly dashed about looking like Ron and had stupidly…

He followed her mutely, his heart thumping, only vaguely aware of which direction they were taking. He vaguely recognized this corridor from last year – but from where? He hadn't taken any classes this way…

Suddenly, she went through a door, and began mounting a curving staircase, and he recognized at once where they were headed – the Astronomy Tower, where they'd taken their OWLS last year, and had watched the attack on Professor McGonagall and Hagrid.

"Err…Hermione, does Ron –"

"Don't worry about it," Hermione interrupted calmly. Harry was distinctly reminded of last year yet again, when she had been leading he and Umbridge crashing through the forest. That was Hermione – as much as the Prophet and the school gossips liked to think he was at the head of their little group, it was always Hermione plunging ahead, showing them the way.

When they finally reached the top of the tower, they happened upon a couple startled first-years – Harry vaguely recognized Arthur Aaronson and Electra Bellanova in the dim starlight.

"Scram," Hermione said, amiably.

"Oh, that's nice!" Electra said, sweeping her hair to the side, "Just because you're a prefect! And what are you doing up here, anyway?"

"Prefect business," Hermione said, smiling sweetly, "What are you two doing up here?"

"Astronomy homework," Electra said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Hermione leaned in, and with a sly grin, whispered, "Where are your books?"

Two embarrassed exits later, they had the Astronomy Tower to themselves.

"That was…mean!" Harry said, though he was more surprised and amused than criticizing.

Hermione laughed, and shrugged as she sat on one of the stone steps, her back to the parapet. "It's my job. They're first-years – not supposed to be out this late anyway, and second of all, they're far too young to be snogging."

"Err…you know," Harry began, but Hermione held up a hand.

"I'm beginning to think…" she said, making eye contact with him, an amused expression on her face, "That we're all a bit too young, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Harry said, heat creeping up his neck, "I think I know what you mean."

"Here." Hermione said, reaching into her robes, and throwing something to him. Harry caught it, instinctively, even though her throw was a bit off. It felt warm in his hands, and he recognized its heft, and smoothness instinctively.

"Is there anything you want to ask me, Harry? You know I can't lie."

Harry immediately felt ashamed of himself, for ever thinking that she and Ron had been sneaking around, or feeling like a fifth wheel…for misinterpreting their friendship so deeply, and for ever doubting her one-hundred percent support.

"No," Harry said, handing it back to her, "You don't need to explain anything. Not if you don't feel like it."

"We weren't –"

"I don't need to know," Harry insisted, handing it back to her, firmly, "It's fine, really."

Hermione studied him for a minute. Her frizzy hair was capturing the moonlight, and framing her soft features. Finally she smiled gently, and took the Veritastone back from him. She scootched over on the stone step, wordlessly inviting him to sit, which he did, making sure not to hit his head on the eyepiece of the telescope.

"So when did you figure it out?" he asked, turning beet red.

Hermione laughed, "The next day. Oh honestly, Harry, why did you do something so –"

"I don't know," he said, the heat creeping up the back of his neck, "I was rushing to tell you, and then when I got there…I was so stupid."

"No, not stupid," Hermione said, leaning into him against the cold, "Just…"

"Yeah," Harry said, quietly. He somehow knew that she was thinking about his upbringing, about the coldness of the Durlsey's sneering, the dust of his cupboard under the stairs…how starved he had been for a kind word, a friendly face. He wondered vaguely whether this was Legilimency, or whether they just knew each other too well by now.

"So, you and Ron, now," he said, grinning, and now it was Hermione's turn to blush.

"It didn't start how you'd think," she said, "Just – after the Ministry last year. I mean…"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding soberly, "I think it was a big wake-up call for him."

"And me," Hermione said, "The three of us have all faced danger before, but I think that up until last year it was still an adventure for Ron and I. I mean, we were always terrified, of course, but last year was different. And we were both in the hospital wing for so long, and at night-time, we'd just get to talking…"

She trailed off dreamily, but quickly blushed and looked away, seemingly embarrassed to be showing this new side of herself in front of Harry.

"Well, I'm glad," Harry said firmly, "I really am, honestly."

Hermione crooked an eyebrow, "Honestly?"

Harry laughed, "I mean it. I don't know…I don't what was going on with me. And, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean anything by it, you just didn't even give me a chance to say anything!"

"Oh, so it's my fault?" Hermione asked, suddenly stern.

"Well, no, I guess not," Harry amended, sheepishly.

"Hmm," Hermione said firmly, but her signature smile was creeping in the corners.

They sat in silence for a while, the cool wind whistling through the gaps in the stone parapet.

"You know, Harry, I was always jealous of you and Ron," Hermione said, all of a sudden, "It's part of why I so badly wanted to be your friend in first year. You have something with him that I could never have."

"Yes, you could," Harry said, putting an arm over her shoulders.

"No, I can't," Hermione said, thoughtfully, "No matter what I do, what you and I have couldn't be like what you and Ron have…But it could be just as important," she said, glancing at him meaningfully.

Harry grinned sheepishly, and kissed her forehead, rubbing her arm to keep her warm.

"So, you and Ginny?" she asked teasingly, her voice muffled by Harry's jumper.

"Ugh. I dunno," Harry said, "I think I messed that up, too."

Hermione laughed as though the complete opposite were true.

"Well. We're all a bit young for this nonsense anyway. I think we'll just…see what happens."

Harry sighed deeply. To hear Hermione talk, there was no huge battle lurking just around the corner. There was no Lord Voldemort, or Death Eaters.

"Yes," Harry agreed amiably, "See what happens."

"You scared?" she asked, gently.

"No," Harry said, truthfully, "Scared for you and Ron, and Ginny, and everybody. Scared for Hogwarts. For me, it's kind of…pointless to be scared anymore, you know? I'm sort of doomed either way."

"Oh, Harry…"

Harry simply shrugged in reply.

"There's something else I've got to tell you. I told Dumbledore you were a Metamorphmagus."

"You what?!"

"I had to, Harry. You know that."

"No, I don't know that!"

"Harry, I was worried about you," Hermione said, looking stricken, "Please don't be mad. I'm telling you about it, aren't I? I didn't want to keep any more secrets."

"It was my secret to keep, you know," Harry groused, but he was already settling back into his spot.

"I'm just trying to keep you safe," Hermione said, "And the best way to do that is make sure Dumbledore knows about every new development."

"You didn't tell him about…"

"Of course not," Hermione said, sounding smooth and discerning, "I simply said that I had a suspicion, and he said that my suspicions were usually correct, and didn't ask any more about how I figured it out."

"So what'd he have to say about it?" Harry grumped.

"Oh honestly, Harry! You sound as though you don't even like him anymore!"

Harry didn't respond…it wasn't true, he didn't hate Dumbledore, but at the same time, he didn't feel the urge to reassure Hermione of the opposite, either. He and Dumbledore still had a few things to work through first.

"He basically just nodded, and said thank you, and that was that," Hermione said, "I really think he's going to be discreet about it, Harry. He knows by now that you don't need any extra pressure. Besides, I don't think he wants the enemy finding out about it. He said that if you did bring it up with me, I was supposed to tell you not to use your ability in front of them, ever."

"So he does think we'll see action."

"That's what I asked him."

"And what did he say?"

"He doesn't know."

They sat there for another couple minutes, until Harry's bum began to feel numb from the hardness of the stone, and the cold seeping through his jeans. Finally, Hermione yawned, and stood, stretching.

"Let's head in," she said, offering him a hand.

The strange occurrences and abnormal lessons continued that week, teachers suddenly deviating from their typical lesson plans, or abandoning lengthy research assignments in favor of more practical applications and wandwork. If Ron or Ginny had any idea what he and Hermione had talked about, they gave no clue. He was pretty sure they knew they'd taken a detour after talking to Dobby, but it certainly didn't seem to bother either of them, and they surely knew better than to ask.

"I don't like the sound of it," Ron said frowningly, as they walked to Care of Magical Creatures the next day, "Are you sure Snape is still really trying to get into your mind?"

"He certainly seemed like it," Harry said, thoughtfully, "Why wouldn't he be?"

"Maybe…" Ron said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Just stop right there," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "We both know what you're going to say, so just stop."

"Hermione, he _was _a Death Eater! We still don't have one-hundred percent proof that he –"

"I repeat: Dumbledore _trusts_ him, Ron! Besides, what could Snape possibly gain by going easy on Harry, especially after he's trained him all the rest of the time?"

"Maybe he's making sure he's out of practice?"

"Maybe…Maybe it's Voldemort," Harry said, quietly, noticing his two friends wince subtly, caught off-guard, "Maybe it wasn't just Snape trying to get into my head all those times…and maybe now that he doesn't want me knowing what he's up to, it's easier to block Snape out…"

That thought was so sobering, that the three of them finished their walk in silence. In fact, there was only one thing that could cheer them up –

"Hagrid!"

Hermione dashed forward, and threw her arms around Hagrid's neck (an act which actually required a running start). Then, suddenly realizing she'd flung herself at a teacher during class time, blushingly let go, and dropped to the ground.

"'Lo," Hagrid said, blushing shyly, "Nice to see you too!"

"Welcome back, Hagrid!" Ron said with a grin.

"Where've you been?" Harry asked, beaming.

"Well, I should think that'd be obvious," Hagrid winked, and then added, with a nervous glance at the other students arriving, "Err…with _family_. Fer the holidays, an' all."

The class wasn't much of a class…Hagrid had simply copyquilled a page from the Ministry of Magic, outlining which bits of magical creatures were classified as A, B, or C tradeable materials, and another page full of laws forbidding Experimental Breeding, and had them all taking notes from it.

"Never was much fer all that Ministry stuff anyhow," Hagrid confessed later, as they sat on his stoop, the other students having turned theirs in, and electing to spend the rest of the class lounging on the grass chatting.

"Ruddy boring, but it's on the NEWTS, so I figure I'll jes' give it to yeh, and let you do it yerselves, seein' as yer probably better at book-learnin' than I am, anyhow."

"Yawn," Ron agreed, waving the copyquilled parchments, and Harry nodded his agreement.

"You had better study those!" Hermione chunnered, "Especially since you're planning on taking the NEWT for Care of Magical Creatures next year!"

"Hermione, we have a whole other year!" Ron protested, but Harry quickly headed off a confrontation:

"So Hagrid," he asked, lowering his voice, "Any relatives visiting?"

"Might be," he said, evasively.

"Anyone we know personally?" Hermione asked. Harry thought he heard a note of trepidation in her voice, and smiled to himself – Grawp hadn't exactly made a great first impression.

Hagrid must have noticed it too, because he frowned woundedly, and rumbled, "Aw, now 'ermione, he's loads better this year –"

"Shh!" Ron cautioned, as some of the students were still a bit too close to earshot for comfort.

"I'll tell yeh later," Hagrid said, "Second thought, no I won't. Less you lot know abou' it, the better."

Their protests fell on deaf ears: however many giants Hagrid was stashing in the Forest, he wasn't telling.

"How's he managing to get past the centaurs?" Hermione wondered, with a shudder – she remembered all too clearly their last run-in with them.

"I don't want to know," Harry said, echoing Hagrid's earlier sentiment.

The day of the Quidditch match dawned gray and drizzly. Harry found himself shuddering as he pulled on his Quidditch Robes.

"Hey," Ron said, reassuringly, "It's just one of those – what do you call them, Dean? Scrimmle?"

"Scrimmage," Dean corrected, wearily.

"Well, anyway, it doesn't count for anything. Besides, you'll do fine as Chaser."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Harry muttered darkly, with a glance at the calendar. February 28th – it was almost March. One more day, as it was Leap Year, and then…

Harry noticed the entire school seemed to be on edge. He doubted anyone had heard about the Prophecy – but everyone could infer from the behavior of the Professors that something serious was going on. Laughter in the hallways was strained and tinny, and Professors were frequently to be seen standing outside their classroom doors, exchanging grim nods with one another and scanning the hallways for trouble.

"Look," Ron said, softly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Let's just play some Quidditch, today, eh?"

Lupin's advice to him from the start of the year came drifting back from Harry's memories, and he nodded, forcing a grin. It was fine for Ron – he wasn't about to die, or become a murderer.

Harry dressed in the Gryffindor locker-room, as usual, but rather than donning his typical red robes, he simply put on a couple Weasley sweaters – the Hinkypunks were wearing regular clothing, but the Hippogriffs had agreed to wear their school robes, so that everyone would be able to tell the teams apart. He felt oddly naked as he stood up from the bench – Even with the arm and shin guards, he'd never played a game of Quidditch without his uniform. He eyed it longingly as it hung in his locker – he could only see the "OTT" of his name, the way it hung.

"Decent?" Ginny yelled noisily, before poking her head around.

"Curses," she grinned, "Foiled again."

"Ew!" Ron said, flinging a balled-up sock at her head, "You're my sister!"

"Gross, not _you_!" Ginny rolled her eyes, "Please. I've seen you naked, and I was nearly scarred for life. That's why Mum made up the shower schedule."

Harry snorted back a laugh, as Ron flushed scarlet.

"Well, you should've knocked!"

"You're the one who forgot to Imperturb the door!"

"Well, you should still knock! Besides, _Ginevra_, you used to run around the garden naked!"

"I was three, _Ronald_!" Ginny retorted, turning as scarlet as Ron.

"Err, as fascinating as your family is?…" Katie Bell grinned, as she crossed over to their bench, and plunked down to attach her shin-guards.

"Right," Ginny said, now fuming at Ron, "Fine." She, too began to attach her shin-guards.

"It's weird not being on the same team," Ron said, nodding at Ginny's school robes, apparently having already dropped their argument.

"Yeah," Harry said, wrinkling his nose, "I keep being afraid I'll pass the ball to the wrong person."

"Chasing is easier than you'd think, Harry," Ginny said, reassuringly, "Just like you always tell us – keep your eyes open for Zacharias and Katie, and pass the ball a lot."

"I'll try to hang around the hoops, Harry," Katie said, "So you and Zack do a lot of passing, and if you don't want to risk the shot, chuck it to me."

"Hey, just because I'm nervous about it, doesn't mean I'm not even going to try!" Harry said, feeling a bit of his good humor return, "Besides, do you think it's fair to be discussing our secret strategy in front of the enemy here?" he teased, jutting his chin towards Ginny.

Giving a mock scoff of offense, Ginny sprang up, and flounced out the door with a flip of her red hair.

"I think that's our cue," Ron mumbled, rolling his eyes.

They entered the pitch, to find the entire school waiting, as usual. Unfortunately, while the teams had been mixed through the houses, everyone was still seated in their house stands – now, instead of students choosing one house or the other to support for the game, all four houses were sporting their colors proudly, with banners and painted faces, and judging from the din, it seemed a riot was imminent.

"Ah," Ron said, simply, for utter lack of anything constructive to say. They all stood there for a moment, observing the cacophony surrounding them.

"POTTER!" 

"That doesn't sound good," Ginny said, shuddering to Harry's left.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Draco Malfoy dropped out of the sky, chucking his black Nimbus 2001 to the ground.

"WHAT D'YOU MEAN BY PUTTING US ON THE SAME TEAM?!" 

"It's an inter-house unity game," Harry said, folding his arms stubbornly, "Like it or not, we're teammates."

"AND I SUPPOSE YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING TO BE SEEKING?!" 

"No, I'm playing Chaser," Harry said, his temper quickly rising, "So after this moment, I don't foresee any need for us to speak to one another."

"_I AM NOT PLAYING QUIDDITCH WITH THE WEASEL!_ He's so bloody _POOR_, I can hardly stand the _SMELL_ of him! _AND _you put Zacharias _BLOODY SMITH_ on the team!"

"So?" Harry snapped, the last of his patience gone, "He's good!"

"_HE'S A **MUDBLOOD**!"_ Draco shrieked, his silver-blonde hair disheveled, and his normally palid cheeks contorted and flushed with rage, "**_A FILTHY, REEKING, COMMON_** –"

"_FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT_!" rang the voices from the stands. Apparently their tiff hadn't gone unnoticed. Madam Hooch was in the air, already streaking towards them on her broom, looking livid.

"This is a nightmare," Ron moaned quietly, to Harry's right.

Impulsively, Harry took a deep breath, and thrust his hand out to Draco Malfoy. The din of "Fight! Fight!" slowly receded in the stands.

Half expecting to be punched in the gut, Draco had jumped backwards, bumping into his goons. When he realized what Harry had actually done, his expression slid quickly from fear to disgust.

"You play with us, or you don't play," Harry said bluntly, hand still outstretched.

"Well that's simple then," Draco sneered, "We _don't!_"

Harry jerked his head curtly towards the Slytherin stands.

"The entire house showed up, Malfoy. I don't think your devoted fans will be pleased if the whole of Slytherin house withdraws from the game. Ambitious, Slytherins. Don't fancy a quitter."

Malfoy looked utterly outraged – Harry reflected it was quite possible no Gryffindor had ever lectured a Slytherin on the merits of Slytherin house before.

"What in blue blazes is going on here?" Madame Hooch snapped, having just alighted next to them, "Potter, Malfoy – are you, or are you not on the _same team_?"

"We are," Harry and Draco said at the same time, one with steady determination, and the other with sneering distaste.

"Then shake his bloody hand, and get on the field before they start gnawing at the bleachers!" Madame Hooch barked.

Looking as though he'd just been asked to lick a flobberworm, Draco extended his hand, and gave Harry a half-hearted, weak-wristed shake, before summoning his broom, and taking to the sky.

There was a roar from the stands as Harry and the others strode to the center of the field.

"Don't know whether they're happy, or angry, or what," Ron said in awe. Harry had to agree – he'd never heard anything like it.

"Remember, keep the Quaffle moving, Harry," Katie said, taking her spot to his left.

"Ah, Harry," Zacharias said, just arriving on Harry's right from the Hufflepuff locker room, "Let's make it a good one, eh?"

"Sure, Zack," Harry said, trying distractedly to nod at Katie at the same time. His stomach was doing flip-flops. He had to win the toss-up, or he'd look like a total idiot.

"Well, see you," Ron said, chucking him on the arm, and setting off for the goal posts. Harry felt even worse – it was bad enough with Ron by his side, but with Katie and Zack in position behind him, and the entire opposing team before him, Harry felt a bit overwhelmed – as Seeker, all he'd ever had to do was stay out of the fray and focus on the Snitch…while it was technically true that Quidditch was a team sport, it wasn't really one for the Seeker.

Now, he had the distinct impression that he was going into battle. And to make matters worse…

"Hi, Harry," Cho said, stepping up to the circle.

"Hi," Harry said, suppressing a groan.

Great. Imagine if he lost a toss-up to his ex-girlfriend…

"Right," Madam Hooch said briskly, as she landed at their side with the Quaffle tucked under her arm, "The Snitch has been released. I want a good clean game."

Harry found his focus wandering over to the other team, and he caught a glimpse of Ginny circling the pitch, looking for the freshly-released Snitch. In the din, he somehow managed to hear Hermione's shrill screaming, and he grinned – this wasn't so bad. After all, everyone on the other team was in the D.A…with the exception of Bletchley, of course. And he had friends on his side, and in the stands, as well.

"Just play Quidditch," he muttered to himself, as Madam Hooch wrapped up her "good clean game" speech, and fit the whistle to her mouth.

With a sharp blast, the Quaffle was up, and Harry had his hand around it, and he was off, zooming into the air, with his heart fit to burst.

"And it's Harry with the Snitch! Er, I mean Quaffle!" came Lee Jordan's magically enhanced voice, and Harry grinned to himself. This was going to be extra difficult for Lee – familiar faces in strange places.

"_HARRY_!" shrieked Katie, and Harry looked to his right just in time to avoid a Bludger.

"_YOU IDIOTS_!" came Draco's furious screech from above him. Harry looked up to see Draco berating a befuddled pair of beaters, "He's on _OUR FLIPPING TEAM_!"

Harry hastily chucked the Quaffle to Katie, who immediately began a passing salvo with Zacharias. Swooping past Cho, who had taken to her usual strategy of dogging his every move, Harry neared the goalposts…

"_HARRY!!"_ Katie hollered, in a hoarse, crazed yell that Harry normally associated with Irish football fans.

He was just shocked enough to be extra alert, and managed to catch the Quaffle she had chucked to him.

"_DO IT!!"_ She bellowed, pointing to the hoops.

Galvanized by panic more than anything else, Harry hastened to comply, and took a shot at the far right goal hoop.

For one awful moment, he thought it would go wide…in the next awful moment, he thought Bletchley was going to reach it in time. But it went right over his left arm, and a loud "ding!" announced the first score of the game.

"**_WOOO!"_** keened Katie, flashing Harry a thumbs up.

Harry flashed her a thumbs up weakly, feeling a bit intimidated by her fierceness – he'd never really interacted with his Chasers before, so he hadn't realized how ferocious Katie could be when the spirit took her. Far across the pitch, he watched as Ginny and Draco took a sudden dive, and his heart lept up to his chest.

"Harry!" barked Zacharias, "Defense!"

Harry forced himself to focus on the task at hand, and zoomed after Cho, who had already darted off, trying to get open for the score. Davies and MacMillan were passing back and forth.

"Ohhh!" Lee's voice boomed out over the pitch, "An excellent Wronski feint from the youngest Weasley…" So that hadn't been the Snitch after all…

"I'm open!" Cho shrieked, but Harry put on an extra burst of speed, and as though it were slow-motion, watched as his hand smacked the Quaffle away as she was about to catch it.

She looked up at him with a look of shock and outrage, and in the next instant, they were both diving after the Quaffle, which was sinking through the air slowly. Cho managed to get to it first, but Harry was right on top of her, tailing her every move, making it difficult for her to find an opening for a pass. He found he couldn't even concentrate on Lee's commentary, as he usually did, and the roar of the crowd became so much meaningless noise…

This was amazing! So this is what his father had done – he felt as though he immediately understood so much more about him – the aggression this took, the speed…the steely focus on your opponent, and the clear-headed ability to drop your objective at an instant, and head charging in the complete opposite direction…

Cho finally attempted to pass the Quaffle to Ernie MacMillan, but Harry had manage to cover her so that the pass was weak and slow, and Katie was on it like a cat on a mouse, and already zooming off to the opposite end of the field.

"Nice, Harry!" Cho spat, viciously, as she wheeled her broom around.

Harry was stunned for a moment, and then wrenched his broom around, putting on an extra burst of speed indignantly – he was just doing his job! He quickly surpassed Cho, and led her on a merry chase, zigging and zagging all over the field, all the while trying to keep his eyes on Katie and Zack.

"Harry!" Zack hollered from above him, and Harry wrenched upwards on his Firebolt so that he was literally upside down. In the split second it took him to gain his bearings, the Quaffle was hurtling towards him, and with his Seeker reflexes, he plucked it out of the air.

"Harry, look out!"

Harry only had time to recognize Ginny's voice before the Bludger slammed into his right arm, and he was forced to drop the Quaffle.

Momentarily stunned from the pain, Harry righted his broom, and shook his head, to clear away the haze. Cho had managed to grab the Quaffle, and in another few moments, his heart sank, as he heard a "ding" from the opposite end of the field.

"No worries, Harry," Katie said, arriving suddenly at his side, "Happens to the best of us. You alright?"

"You…do this…every game?" Harry asked, panting heavily.

Katie simply laughed in response, and shot off down the field, trying to cover Ernie MacMillan.

It went on like that for what felt like hours, Harry alternately dogging Cho or trying to shake her, straining his neck to keep Katie and Zack in his sights, and gasping for air as he urged his broom into some of the speediest and most complicated aerodynamics he'd ever attempted. While it was true that the broom was doing most of the flying, Harry was working harder than he'd ever worked – his arms were already getting sore, and he thought his shoulders would pop clean out of their sockets the next time he had to turn on a dime, and feel his own weight threaten to rip his hands off the broom handle.

He managed one more goal, and had assisted Katie in another, but the Hippogriffs were managing many more attempts, and eventually, Cho snuck another one by Ron, followed by another from Ernie MacMillan.

"This can't…go on…much longer," Harry panted, feeling sweat trickle down his neck, as he hefted the Quaffle to Zacharias Smith again. He could hear Cho breathing hard behind him, and knew he wasn't the only getting exhausted.

Katie, fortunately, was indomitable, and her Viking-esque war cries never failed to inspire sudden, panicked alert on his part. More than once she'd alerted him to an opening, or saved him from a Bludger.

And then, suddenly, there was a massive gasp from the stands, and Harry followed Katie's glance to see Ginny and Draco diving for the snitch, ramming each other with their brooms, arms outstretched…

"And it's WEASLEY! MALFOY! WEASLEY!" Lee Jordan's magically enhanced voice rang out over the pitch, "MALFOY!"

Time seemed to freeze as the two of them swooped upwards out of their dive…and then…

"IT'S WEASLEY! WEASLEY GETS THE SNITCH! _THE HIPPOGRIFFS WIN_!"

"Yeah!!" Harry cried, pumping his fist in the air.

"Err, Harry…you lost," Cho panted to his right.

"Huh? Oh…Oh yeah."

Harry felt a bit stupid, and nervously glanced up at the stands, hoping no one had seen him. Why did he always have to look like an idiot in front of Cho? At the very least he'd like to be one of those ex-boyfriends that girls talked about wistfully, rather than the kind they felt a bit embarrassed for.

Ron came zooming over from his spot at the goal posts, grinning, and shrugging.

"Not bad," he grinned, "Great game, at least."

"And you're proud of Ginny, of course," Harry replied, also grinning, "Go on, you can say it!"

"Alright, I am," Ron admitted, "But don't tell her that – it'll go to her head."

"Good game, Potter! You're a fair Chaser!" Katie said, lazily flying over to meet them.

"Ugh," Harry said, grinning, and wiping the sweat from his brow as they touched down, "Still prefer Seeking, I think."

Harry smiled, as he watched Ginny raise the Snitch in the air, to the thunderous cheering in the stands. He knew that they'd lost, but somehow, it didn't feel like it, and he found himself clapping, and shaking hands with everyone else – he'd lost track of who was playing for who.

Draco came storming over, not bothering to wait for Crabbe and Goyle to catch up.

"_Pathetic!"_ he snapped, "Sixty? That's the best you could do, _sixty?_ If you'd been racking up any kind of points, this wouldn't have mattered."

"Malfoy, if you'd've _caught_ the bloody Snitch, our lousy Chasing wouldn't have mattered," Ron retorted.

"Why don't you just relax?" Harry said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, "It's not like it counts towards the Quidditch cup or anything."

Harry wasn't prepared when Malfoy reached up and shoved him forcefully. Caught completely off guard, Harry's arms pinwheeled, and he feel with a soft thud to the Quidditch pitch.

There was another collective gasp from the stands. Harry looked up just in time to see Malfoy make a rather rude gesture to them, turn on his heel, and storm off.

"Oi!" Lee Jordan boomed, "That's not on! Malfoy, obviously sore about the Hinkypunk's loss…"

Ron was setting off to follow him, but Harry managed to grab his pants leg, holding him back.

"Let it go!" he said, sourly, as he released Ron, and struggled to a sitting position, "Just let him go cool off. Git."

"Rotten, slimy, Slytherin," Ron spat, offering Harry a hand up, "I suppose we're lucky that's the worst he did."

Harry chuckled, as a chorus of boos followed Malfoy to the locker room, "Well, at least the crowd seems to agree."

"Harry! Harry!" Ginny was waving ecstatically from Kirke and Sloper's shoulders, the Snitch still clutched in her fist, "Look!"

Harry and Ron both flashed her a thumbs up, grinning broadly.

"Well, here's to inter-house unity," Ron said, as Cho, Ernie, and Roger followed their teammates into the Gryffindor locker room, whooping and pumping their fists in the air. "Nice work, partner."

"They're going to feel awfully silly when they realize their clothes are in the other locker rooms," Harry said, smirking.

"Nice work, partner…" 

Harry thought his chest would burst from happiness.


	57. Chapter Fifty Seven

**Advisory:** This chapter is PG-13, for one moment of foul language.

The exuberance of the match quickly spilled into the Great Hall. Everyone was still wearing their Quidditch things, their muggle clothes balled up and rescued from the wrong locker rooms – there was a funny moment where everyone tried to figure out who had who's clothing, and then finally gave up, figuring that the house elves could sort it out with the laundry that night. (Hermione looked very tempted to launch into a lecture about disrespecting the house elves, but Ron hurriedly distracted her, fishing for praise of his Keeping abilities.)

It was like a Hogsmeade weekend, with twice the energy. The two teams sat together, which left everyone either wondering where to sit, or happily mixing and mingling with friends from class, or after-school activities. The racket was hardly any quieter than it had been on the field, and Harry found himself shouting to be heard.

The Professors had decided to allow the bit of extra ruckus, and it seemed they were even affected by the holiday mood, McGonagall grinning and chatting with Hagrid, and Flitwick laughing jovially at something Professor Sprout had said.

What made Harry happiest though, was Dumbledore, who scanned the crowd with a serene, Cheshire grin until he found Harry, and bestowed the slightest of winks.

Having both regained Ron's friendship, and earned Dumbledore's approval, Harry figured that day pretty much ranked with Christmas, and was about to tuck happily into his turkey and dressing, when a very strange thing happened.

An enormous eagle owl suddenly burst through one of the circular windows near the enchanted roof, and began circling the Great Hall. In its beak was clutched a large, red envelope.

"Ohhhh, someone's in for it!" Ron laughed, pointing upwards.

"You didn't seem to think it was so funny second year!" Hermione teased. But Harry found himself equally intrigued – who'd gotten into trouble lately?

His stomach sank as the eagle owl spied him, and began winging its way towards their table.

The table fell suddenly silent, even as hoots and whoops began filling the Great Hall.

"I haven't done anything!" Ron protested, at Hermione's suspicious glare.

Harry noticed that the letter had begun to smoke…but it didn't look like regular smoke…it was…

…green.

"DUCK!" Harry yelled, as the owl drew closer to the table, "UNDER THE TABLE, NOW!"

Harry ducked just in time to see the massive owl drop the red envelope, now spewing green smoke, to the table. There was a tremendous BANG! And all of a sudden, the entire Great Hall was lit in piercing green light that sparkled and refracted on Ron and Hermione's faces.

Harry found he could suddenly hear nothing but a high pitched keening sound, roaring, filling his ears – he realized that every single student at Hogwarts had begun screaming at once. He reemerged from under the table, despite Hermione and Ron's voiceless pleas for him to stay put, and saw it – glittering green and vile, the Dark Mark, but massive, hovering menacingly in the air over their heads, a foul serpent squirming lazily out of its sparkling green jaws.

"IF THERE ARE THOSE AMONG YOU WHO YET FEAR DEATH," screeched a high, cold voice that Harry recognized with a sinking, hot-and-cold sensation in his midriff, "I GIVE YOU THIS ONE CHANCE TO SAVE YOUR WORTHLESS LIVES FROM THE WRATH OF LORD VOLDEMORT."

The high-pitched screaming increased in volume, if possible, sending another deafening wave crashing through Harry's eardrums. Hermione had grabbed his leg, and was clinging desperately, trying to drag him back under the table.

"MY ARMY OF DEATH EATERS HAS SURROUNDED THE SCHOOL. DELIVER HARRY POTTER TO ME, AND WE WILL LET YOU ESCAPE WITH YOUR LIVES. IF NOT, WE WILL TAKE THE SCHOOL BY FORCE AND KILL ANYONE AND ANYTHING THAT DRAWS BREATH._AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

The screaming tripled in intensity, and Harry ducked instinctively, his heart turning to ice – Hermione was still doggedly grabbing his leg, and Ron had flung himself on top of her, covering her bushy head with his arms – both had their faces pressed to the stone floor, but they were alive.

This was insanity – he surely couldn't kill anyone with a_Howler_...

"DO YOU STILL FEAR ME? KNOW THIS – LORD VOLDEMORT IS NOT A CHILD'S STORY, SENT TO FRIGHTEN YOU INTO OBEDIENCE. DO YOU HEAR MY VOICE? IT IS THE SOUND OF YOUR DEATH. YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT. IF YOU DO NOT DELIVER HARRY POTTER TO ME BY THAT TIME, IT WILL BE YOUR FINAL HOUR ON THIS EARTH."

And as suddenly as it had come, the high, booming voice ceased, and the great, glittering skull with the bulging serpent flickered, and went out, raining hot ash down from the enchanted ceiling.

There was a moment of peculiar silence, where all Harry could hear was a dull whine in his ears – for a moment he thought he'd gone deaf. Then, he wished he hadn't.

Desperate screams and sobs began to fill the air. He spied Hannah Abbott under the table across from him, tears rolling down her contorted face, her hands mashed to her ears. Several members of the D.A. emerged weakly from under the tables, wands at the ready…Harry looked from Ron's blood-drained face to Hermione's, then found Luna, Ginny, and Zacharias, all staring about shell-shocked.

"Excuse me, please," Dumbledore said, mildly, and all heads snapped up to the Headmaster as though at a tennis match. Harry couldn't understand why Dumbledore's voice was so calm – surely, he was not about to suggest that "no one panic?"

"If everyone could please regain their seats? Yes, that's right, Miss Lovegood," he said, as Luna plopped into her seat, looking a bit jumpy, at worst, "Please help those who are less able…Come on, then."

Slowly, students crawled out from under tables, coaxing more recalcitrant classmates. Harry spotted Neville sitting ashen-faced and tight-lipped a few spaces down…he was staring determinedly at the table-top, as though steeling himself for something.

Once the students had returned to their seats, Dumbledore held up both hands, and said, "I had hoped this moment would never come. But please rest assured, it is not unexpected. And please believe me when I say: Voldemort does – "

There was an outburst of screams – Harry heard Parvati Patil shriek, "Stop him! Someone stop him!" and Ernie MacMillan cried out, "For God's sake, man!"

Harry observed as McGonagall, without the slightest change of facial expression, put a hand gently on Dumbledore's forearm. He sighed.

"He Who Must Not Be Named does not make idle threats. I believe that if he does not receive Harry Potter by midnight, that he will attack. However, Vol – " there were scattered shrieks and gasps, "He Who Must Not Be Named also lives to incite terror. It is our responsibility to be brave in this dark hour."

"Fuck that!" cried a snooty, cold voice that Harry instantly recognized. His blood began to boil as he watched Draco Malfoy stand up at the Slytherin table, outrage and fear written all over his aristocratic features, "All he wants is Harry Potter! I say, let's deliver him!"

Stunned, ringing silence met this proposition, but Malfoy showed not the slightest hint of apology – neither for his rudeness to the Headmaster, nor the suggestion that they serve Harry to Voldemort like a trussed pig.

"Are you people _daft_?" Malfoy shrieked, his perfectly blonde coif falling into his eyes, "Or just _stupid_? Look, it'shim the Dark Lord wants! Or would you rather have yourself_and_the entire school end up dead?"

His cold, furious gray eyes met Harry's across the room.

"Why should we die for him!" he spat, violently.

"Mr. Malfoy _THAT – WILL – DO!_" boomed McGonagall, who had regained her indignant outrage, "You ought to be_expelled_ for the things you've just–"

"Shut it, you old hag!" Malfoy roared, and the Great Hall gasped collectively, "I have every intention of surviving the night, and I don't care who I have to piss off to do it!"

"Don't you_dare_ talk back to Professor McGonagall, you slimy Slytherin creep!" Katie Bell roared, leaping to her feet like a feral cat.

"Oi, Jingle Bells!" retorted Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, who also stood. Katie bristled furiously. "I'm not dying for your sake, or any other self-absorbed_heroes_ over there…"

"Coward!" cried Cho Chang indignantly.

Angry shouts and cries filled the air as members of each house stood up and gave a piece of their minds to one another. It looked like a riot was imminent.

"Be quiet!" Hannah sobbed, irrationally, "He'll hear you!"

"It's all_HIS_ fault!" Draco shrieked dramatically, standing on a chair, and whipping out his wand. Harry flinched, his hand already halfway to his wand…

"That will do, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, firmly, and for the first time, Harry detected a hint of anger in the Headmaster's expression. All of a sudden, Draco's face went slack. He sat back down woodenly, and stared straight ahead vaguely, as though he was a mechanical doll that had run low on batteries. Harry didn't know how Dumbledore had done it, but he had the distinct impression that Malfoy had been tampered with.

Justin Finch-Fletchley stood timidly, raising his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly, as if all the consternation of the past five minutes were a very serious, but engaging class.

"Well, err…n-not that I th-th-think we should j-just deliver Harry to…to…to…"

"Go on," Dumbledore encouraged.

"But, w-well, Malfoy's…a bit…right?" he asked, more than stated, "I mean…I don't w-want to d-die…but…what are we…do we have…?"

"A plan? Why yes, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, I'm pleased you asked."

There suddenly came a melodious, soaring keen from overhead. Half the class ducked instinctively, but Harry recognized the sound even before he looked up to see Fawkes, brilliant scarlet and gold, winging his way to Dumbledore, singing as he went. Harry again felt as though he'd just had a piping hot sip of butterbeer, and could feel it working its way through his chest, giving him just the slightest bit of courage.

Fawkes settled on Dumbledore's arm lightly, and the Headmaster stroked his crown feathers with a loving and sad expression in his blue eyes.

"We will need a warning," he said, simply, and with a puff of smoke, Fawkes was replaced by a single red feather which wafted slowly to the ground.

"I have just now contacted certain individuals to come to our aid," Dumbledore said, serenely, addressing the students once more.

"The Ministry?" a small voice asked hopefully, from somewhere in the crowd.

Harry noticed the almost imperceptible flinch in Dumbledore's expression, as he replied, "Yes, I believe most of the Ministry will come."

"And the Dementors!" piped up another voice, "The Azkaban Prison guards! Have them come as well!"

Several students voiced their agreement. Harry looked bewildered into Ron's and Hermione's faces. Were the students really this disconnected from what was actually happening in the magical world?

Dumbledore shook his head sadly.

"The Dementors will not come to our aid," he said, gently, "They have already been swayed to the Dark."

"No!"

"That's impossible!"

"What are we going to do?"

"Please!" Dumbledore said, raising his hands, "Please! Allow me to outline our plan."

The din quieted once more, and Harry, Ron and Hermione, and the rest of the students who were standing took their seats once more.

"I can not ask any of you to stay here who do not want to. We have ways to evacuate the school in times of danger. However, evacuating is not without its own risks. Tom – that is to say, the Dark Lord – was a student here himself, and there is little about the castle he does not know. I can not promise that all the escape routes are safe. And of course, once you leave the castle, I can do nothing to protect you."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Dumbledore certainly wasn't putting a very positive shine on this, though admittedly, it would be impossible to do so.

"This is your fault," said the nasty voice in his head, "Your fault. Your fault."

And suddenly an idea dawned on him. A terrible idea.

Hermione quickly jerked her head away from Dumbledore, and looked at Harry, panic-stricken.

"The castle does, fortunately, have extremely ancient and powerful spells of protection cast upon it," Dumbledore continued, his voice sounding a bit more soothing, "As does each individual house, and each individual dormitory – some of them still in place from the Founders themselves. It is my recommendation that everyone file back to their dormitory, and remain sequestered there with their Head of House, in order to allow – "

"Harry, please," Hermione whispered, "Don't! Don't, Harry!"

But he was already standing.

"Err," he said, and there was a dull thunder as everyone turned in their seat to stare at him.

A look of deep pain crossed Dumbledore's face, though he was still smiling.

"Yes, Harry?" he asked, gently.

"If everyone thinks I ought to…I'll…I'll go," he said, simply, "It's…"

He paused, and swallowed dryly…he didn't want to reveal too much of the Prophecy. He was fully aware of everyone's eyes on him – everyone except Hermione, who had buried her face in her hands, and Ron, who was comforting her.

"It's my responsibility," he said simply, "And…well, I guess that's it."

He sat back down.

For a while nobody said anything.

"Thank you, Harry," the Headmaster said, stiffly. He sounded positively ancient as compared to his normal self. "I'm sure that's appreciated, but hopefully it won't be necessary. Now, if the Head Boy and Girl, Prefects, and Heads of House could please ensure everyone's safe passage to their dormitories? If you would like to risk evacuating, your Head of House will contact you with procedures shortly. Everyone else, please try to remain vigilant and calm, and wait for further – "

There was a sudden, anguished cry that came not from the students, where he might have expected it, but from the staff table. Harry directed his gaze to the source of the sound, to find Severus Snape, sweating profusely and gripping his forearm, gritting his teeth together. Hagrid had concernedly put a hand on his back, and Madame Sprout was asking him something.

"Briskly, please," Dumbledore said, standing in place.

The Great Hall erupted into loud bustle. Harry turned to Hermione and Ron who were looking at him with stricken expressions.

"Harry, whatever happens,_please_!" Hermione begged, tears streaming down her face, "Please don't give up!"

"I'm not giving up!" Harry argued, "I'm going to face him!"

"Not like this!" Hermione insisted, desperately, "Harry, don't you see, you'll be no match for him, not like this, not with his entire army behind him."

"The Prophecy says – "

"To hell with the Prophecy!" Ron swore, an arm still around Hermione's shoulders protectively, "You can't! I'm your best friend!" he added stiltedly, not quite understanding his own logic, "And I say you can't!"

"I'm not going to let you die!" Harry roared.

"It's what he _wants!_" Hermione cried, in response.

"_PREFECTS!_" roared McGonagall's voice.

"Bloody hell!" Ron cursed vehemently. He pointed a finger squarely in Harry's face, "Don't you do anything stupid until we talk about this some more."

Harry simply nodded, and did not say anything. He wasn't sure what he could promise.

The three of them stood there for a moment, not knowing if they would ever see one another again once they parted.

"_GRYFFINDOR PREFECTS!_" bellowed McGonagall once more, and Hermione wiped her face, and in a business-like tone, called out, "This way please, follow us!"

And in an instant, they were gone, leading the file of Gryffindors who swept past, sneaking glances at Harry from downturned, fearful faces.


	58. Chapter Fifty Eight

There was no way Harry was going to go cower in the common room and wait for instructions. No, he knew exactly where he was going.

The hallway was easy to navigate – students were all moving quickly, single-file to their houses. It was easy to make his way to the Headmaster's office.

"Oi!" said one of the stone gargoyles, "What're you doing out of your common room? Don't you know we're in a state of – "

"Fizzing Whizzby," Harry hollered, angrily, "Sherbert Lemon – oh hang it, just _open!_"

"There's no need to shout, Harry," rang a muffled voice, and the gargoyles glared at him with surly expressions as the winding staircase opened for him.

Harry walked into the Headmaster's office to find Snape, writhing and gasping in pain, his arm extended. Madame Pomfrey was there as well, attempting to administer something to the livid scar, which looked as though it were burning horribly. There was the terrible smell of charred flesh hanging in the air.

"_Innerva!_ Aitch!" said Madame Pomfrey, involuntarily dropping her wand, and sucking on her fingers, "I'm sorry Severus, I can't –"

"YOU!" Severus shrieked, his eyes finding Harry at last, an outlet for his agony.

It was distinctly unnerving. Snape looked absolutely mad – his sallow face was pale and sweaty, his hair disheveled, an expression of abject pain and horror stamped on his features. He was obviously struggling – Harry was reminded of Bartemius Crouch fighting off the Imperius. Even so, Harry had never seen the Potions Master with such a lack of self-control.

" I I – don't – want – him – here – Albus, /I " Snape hissed vehemently between gritted teeth.

"Headmaster, we have to do something," Madame Pomfrey said, clearly agitated.

Dumbledore's face was lined and careworn.

"Perform the jelly-gums curse, Madame Pomfrey."

Harry had no idea why these words got such a reaction – it sounded fairly harmless, but Madame Pomfrey's eyes widened, and Snape, despite his best efforts, let out a strangled moan. She stooped to pick up her fallen wand.

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, as though comforting a very small child. Harry had the familiar sinking sensation that he was seeing a side of his Potions Master he would have much preferred to remain private.

"_Dengelato_!" Madame Pomfrey said, shakily, pointing her holly wand at Severus's mouth. His jaw seemed to go slightly slack, and he stopped grinding his teeth. He let out another involuntary moan.

"Hold him," Dumbledore said simply.

Snape began breathing very hard through his nose, and he looked resolutely in the opposite direction. Madame Pomfrey appeared to be gripping his wrist with all her might. Dumbledore slowly pushed Snape's sleeve further back. He looked up and met Harry's eyes.

"Harry," he sternly, "Turn around."

Harry froze, gazing horror-struck at the Dark Mark – it was writhing, glowing red…Snape's arm had begun to blister. Dumbledore steadily aimed his wand at it.

"I am quite serious, Harry," Dumbledore reiterated, "Do not make me cast a Tiresius spell."

Harry jerkily turned around. There was a brief moment of quiet punctuated by Snape's breathing.

"Do it," Snape said, sounding odd with whatever they'd done to his mouth.

" I Reducto Dermis. /I " Albus said quietly.

A bloodcurdling screech filled the air, along with a tearing sound.

"Madame Pomfrey," Dumbledore's voice came, sounding somewhat ill.

"Y-yes Headmaster," she stammered.

"You may turn around, Harry," Dumbledore said, wearily.

Feeling as though this were the last thing he wanted to do, Harry turned around to see Madame Pomfrey pressing an overlarge wad of gauze to Snape's forearm. Snape was shaking visibly, staring at his arm. All of a sudden, he began to laugh. First quietly, then louder and louder, maddened black eyes watering (probably from the pain), until Dumbledore put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Harry felt his insides go cold – he felt as he had when he was small, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had a screaming match (which in their case, meant seeing not who could scream louder at one another, but who could scream the loudest at Harry).

Snape fell silent, and turned a malevolent glare to Harry.

"Um…" Harry stammered, "I'm…I'm really sorry…I was just…"

Snape simply looked away in disgust.

"Headmaster," Madame Pomfrey said, her voice quavering, "That…that spell? That was – "

"I know what it was, Poppy," Dumbledore said, not unkindly. It seemed as though some of the light behind his eyes had gone out. "But we must fight fire with fire."

His cool blue eyes met Harry's. Harry was reminded of his earlier question to Dumbledore – as to whether he'd ever performed a Killing Curse. He thought he understood now.

Madame Pomfrey was just beginning to rub some kind of smelly salve on Snape's arm (and rather clumsily trying to use the gauze to hide the wound from Harry's view) when Professor McGonagall suddenly burst through a nearby portrait.

"Albus I've - _good heavens!_ Severus!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening. Her eyes found Harry next. "_Mr. Potter!_"

Under other circumstances her surprise would have been almost comical, it was so complete.

"You – _what_ – why," she stammered, her nostrils flaring.

"Harry has a right to be here, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Albus, I am _not _sure that – "

"I'm doomed," Snape said, in his quiet, severe way, and they all turned to look at him, "You do realize that, Albus?"

"Not if we can help it," he said, as warmly as he could muster, "Err, take those away, Poppy, if you please?"

"Mm? Oh, yes, of course."

Madame Pomfrey hurriedly _Evanesced_ the bloodied bandages and applied fresh ones. Snape seemed to relax a bit more.

"How?" Harry asked, "How is it possible? He's early – the Prophecy said – "

"Ah, yes, Harry," Dumbledore said, "But remember - Voldemort knew the Prophecy himself. He learned it when he visited your mind, that night of your Occlumency lesson."

"But Albus," McGonagall sputtered, "That means – that means he knew of the Prophecy, and made a deliberate decision –"

"To change it," Dumbledore finished simply.

There was a long pause as they all pondered this.

"I have always believed, Minerva, as well you know," Albus said, slowly, "That it is our _choices_ that are the making of us. And, hopefully," he added firmly, "The _unmaking_ of others. Lord Voldemort has never shied away from tampering in dangerous magics. He has tampered with Dark Magic, blood magic, with Life and Death itself…now, it appears he is attacking Fate, as well."

Harry's head was reeling. As much as he wanted to let Dumbledore wax poetic, he had friends to save.

"What do we do?" Harry asked, determinedly, feeling courage sweep blood back to his extremities, "What's the plan of action?"

"_You_, Harry, are to stay safe in the Gryffindor Common Room!" Professor McGonagall said sternly.

"No!" Harry said, "Err, Professor. I can't. This is still my fight."

"Harry, try to understand – if you are lost, _all_ is lost," Dumbledore added.

Harry felt an irrational anger sweep through him, at his helplessness. So he could do nothing, then. Nothing to –

"That is why," Dumbledore continued delicately, "You must not fall."

There was a moment's stunned silence at this, punctuated only by a feeble "But," from Professor McGonagall.

"Stay to the rear, Harry," Dumbledore said, "And the D.A.? Try to keep them about you at all times."

"Albus!" McGonagall said, in a voice of quiet disbelief, as though she'd never really seen him before, "They are _children!_ Not shields!"

Dumbledore paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. Harry sensed, more than saw, that he was near tears.

"It's fine," Harry said brusquely, "It's not his fault."

He didn't need to say whose fault it was.

"It's just the way it is. We'll be ready. What are the other plans?"

"Well," Dumbledore said, "Hopefully the wards will hold, though I can't imagine Tom hasn't planned for them somehow. Professors and the Order will have to deal with the Dementors. After that, we'll have to rely on our allies and our wits," he said simply.

"My associates are prepared," Snape said, quietly.

"I shall have Dobby inform the house elves," Dumbledore said sadly, "They will be so disappointed. They had a lovely pudding prepared for tonight…"

Under other circumstances, perhaps Harry would have laughed at this, but he suddenly felt as though this were, in fact, a small tragedy.

"I have word from Hagrid that his…err, associates are also prepared," McGonagall said, "Perhaps it's time we?…"

"Yes, I think so," Dumbledore nodded slowly, "Have Hagrid escort them to the castle."

"Hagrid's _out there_?" Harry gasped, "Headmaster, how are they –"

"_Silence_, Potter," Snape snarled, wheeling on him. He seemed considerably more composed now that Madame Pomfrey had put that smelly stuff on his arm and bound it, but he was still pale-faced and sweaty, "Can you not put some _modicum_ of faith in your Headmaster, if not your Professors? Hagrid accepts the risks of his post, as do we all. Did you think that there would be no danger?"

"Severus," Albus said warmly, and remarkably, Snape held his tongue.

"Right then," Albus said, standing slowly, "Minerva, summon the other Professors, I want to speak with them. Let me know also if Tonks and Kingsley bring anyone from the Ministry."

Albus's cold fireplace suddenly flared up in green flame, and Mad-Eye Moody, Arthur, Molly, Fred, George, Marlene McKinnon, Dedalus Diggle, and several other witches and wizards Harry didn't recognize began filing in one after the other.

Harry smiled to see Mrs. Weasley, expecting the bone-crunching hug he desperately needed. He was half-right.

"Harry!" she screeched, and smashed him roughly to her bosom. Almost as instantly, she shoved him away, hands still firmly gripping his shoulders.

"What are you _doing_ here?" she hollered, "Get to your common room!"

"But – "

"_NOW_, young man!"

Harry was instantly cowed – Mrs. Weasley looked like a force of nature. She may have brooked some argument last year at Order meetings, when there was no immediate danger, but it was evident that she would not be as lenient in this situation – in fact, Harry pitied any Death Eater who crossed her path tonight. Behind her back, Fred and George gave him the thumbs-up sign, though their grins were belied by nervous glances towards their mother.

"Come along, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, "I'll see you to your common room."

"Right," Harry said, stumbling over his feet in his haste to comply.

"No, don't be silly!" McGonagall said in her usual, business-like tone, "Through here."

Harry stopped walking towards the staircase, and shifted directions awkwardly to follow McGonagall through a life-size portrait of Godric Gryffindor hanging on the wall, which winked at him kindly, and swung open to admit the two of them. He followed her silently through a cold, stone corridor. There was a warm glow of torches as they walked by an oak door, with no lock or doorknob – only a brass nameplate reading, "Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress." He had time to venture a guess that it was another portrait-back, probably leading to her office, before the corridor grew dark and cold once more. Finally, Harry could see a rectangle at the end of the tunnel, as though it were drawn in light, growing larger and larger as they drew close to it.

"Here we are, then," McGonagall said, and tapped the center of the rectangle with her wand.

It swung open, and Harry realized it was one of the portraits on the side wall of the common room – he'd never known it could open before.

He took a step down, and nearly stumbled, as the floor was much lower than he'd expected.

"_HARRY_!"

Hermione and Ron were pushing their way through the crowded common room, elbowing people out of the way as gently as possible.

"Harry!"

Hermione flung her arms around his neck, sobbing in a way she would normally find most unbeseeming. Even Ron put an arm over Harry's shoulders, patting Hermione awkwardly on the back.

"We didn't know if –"

"I know," Harry said, trying very hard to stay calm.

"Well then," Professor McGonagall said, with her usual brisk, business-like tone, "Why isn't everyone in their dormitory?"

When no one responded, she sighed heavily.

"Well, if you'd prefer to stay together for now…but when I, or a Prefect sends word, it's straight up to your rooms, yes?"

"Yes, Professor," half the house muttered. The normally boisterous lot were all as quiet and frightened as new first years.

"The house elves will bring you some leftovers later. And I suggest you bring down your books, you'll have quite some time to do homework, I imagine."

Several of the younger students laughed shrilly, and then fell silent, as though daring to hope that this would all be over in a few hours. Conversation slowly began to wind up again in the common room, though it remained subdued.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said serenely, her lips barely moving, "There are first and second years here. Do compose yourself."

"S-sorry," Hermione said, wiping her eyes, and wiping her hand distractedly on Harry's sweater – he doubted she even noticed, "Yes. Of course." She coughed once or twice, and was back to herself. "You'll send word? Are the house elves prepared?"

"Everything is being taken care of, Miss Granger…Just make sure everyone stays here for now. It's the safest place." Her eyes wandered involuntarily over to Harry, who decided discretion was the better part of valor, and said nothing.

"I understand," Hermione said, briskly, then suddenly lowered her voice, "Professor – err, if it's alright with Harry, of course – would you like to borrow the map?"

"Map?" Professor McGonagall said, a curious expression on her face, "What map?"

Ron trod on Hermione's foot, but she brushed it off.

"Ouch! Ron, stop that. Well, there's this – "

"It's for Dumbledore," Harry interjected, shooting Hermione a look, "We think it might help. He knows what to do with it."

Professor McGonagall looked from one face to the other suspiciously.

"Alright," she said slowly, "May I have it?"

"Sure, we'll go get it," Harry said.

"I will wait here. Do hurry, please."

"Of course, Professor," Hermione said, briskly, and led the way to the boy's dormitory.

"What were you thinking!" Ron interjected in a angry hiss, once they were out of earshot, "That's Harry's map! Not yours!"

"Ron, there's more important things now! If the map helps, then Dumbledore ought to have it!"

"She's right, Ron," Harry interrupted, as Ron's red ears were an indication that he was about to tell Hermione exactly what he thought of that idea, "But, err, let's try not to give Professor McGonagall more information than is absolutely necessary."

"Right," Ron snorted, "Like who wrote the bloody thing? Or that generations of Gryffindors, including us three, have been using it to sneak all over the bloody school?"

"Honestly!" Hermione said, her voice sounding unnecessarily throaty, "Do you really think anyone's going to care about stupid things like that after – "

She interrupted herself, and looked away.

"It's fine," Harry said, eager to avoid another bout of scary, unfamiliar Hermione-crying, "Let's just get it."

They entered the sixth-years' dormitory to find only Seamus, and Neville, who were perched nervously on the edge of Ron's bed.

"Harry!" Seamus shouted, and Neville wheeled around.

"You're alright!" Neville beamed, his hand in his pocket – Harry realized he must have been smoothing one of the Droobles Wrappers from his mother – he was relieved to know his friends cared about him so much.

"Where's Dean?" Ron asked, nervously.

"Downstairs," Hermione said, "I saw him over in the corner, with Parvati, Lavender, and Ginny."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt that he'd hadn't looked for Ginny…but then again, if she was hiding in a corner, she might not have even noticed him arrive.

"They wouldn' let you face 'im?" Seamus asked Harry, his face drawn.

"Well, sort of," Harry said, a bit nettled. It wasn't as though he wouldn't, if they'd asked him to… "They'd rather I not, until there's no other option."

"Don't blame you, mate," Seamus said, shaking his head seriously.

"What's the plan?" Neville asked, standing calmly. Harry was momentarily bowled over by how tall and confident Neville looked.

"Err – well, just to hang tight, really…for now. They'll let us know when it's time…to err…you know. Do anything."

"What about the D.A?" Seamus asked, looking both excited and afraid, "What's our plan?"

"To wait," Ron said, conclusively.

Seamus looked a bit dubious, but any objection he might have voiced was silenced by the calm finality in Ron's voice. Harry set about rooting through his trunk. The map was there, tucked right at the bottom along with –

He paused, and gingerly picked up the stack of letters.

"Sirius's letters," Harry said, quietly.

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another nervously. Normally it would have bothered him, but Harry ignored it.

"I never read them."

After a moment, Ron walked over and clapped Harry firmly on the shoulder.

"You can read them after," he said, determinedly.

"I don't want to waste…you know…any time," Harry said, tracing the script on the top envelope: "Harry." How soon would he be seeing Sirius?

"So…you can read them right after," Ron said, squeezing Harry's shoulder almost painfully.

Harry nodded, and forced a grin up at Ron and Hermione.

"Right. Right after, I'll read them."

Hermione briskly busied herself tidying up Ron's bed, and Neville hastened to his own, to allow her some space. Harry put the letters back where they belonged, but something else caught his eye, a glint at the base of the trunk. Sirius's mirror.

For a while, he simply observed it – he felt strange.

Not quite understanding why, Harry picked it up out of the trunk, and put it in his pocket. He certainly wasn't going to need it. But something was definitely telling him, strongly, irresistibly, that he needed to take that mirror with him.

"What's that?" Ron asked.

Harry simply shrugged in reply. His scar prickled briefly, and he glanced out the window nervously.

"I think I can sense him nearby. It's funny that it's not stronger."

"He's probably trying to sever the connection," Hermione said matter-of-factly, putting Ron's books and notebooks into his bookbag, "Doesn't want you knowing what he's thinking or feeling – keeping us on our toes."

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, sounding amused.

"I'm packing your books."

"You don't think we're actually going to do _homework?_" Ron asked, disbelieving.

"Why not?" Hermione asked, bristling. Her eyes narrowed. Harry was relieved to see that she'd abandoned her overwrought personality for her typical, studious, serious one, "Exams are coming up."

"In months!" Ron protested.

"Yes," Harry thought, "This is good. This is normal."

"Why not, Ron?" Harry said, lightly, "We have some time. Besides, we ought to bone up on our Potions."

Ron either decided to avoid an argument, or wanted to do whatever Harry felt was best, because he didn't argue.

"Well, come on. Let's not keep Professor McGonagall waiting," Hermione beamed, her worry still visible underneath her smile. It reminded Harry of the way she'd just pulled up Ron's coverlet, to hide the dirty laundry scattered on his bed.

They made their way out the door, Seamus following.

"Coming, Neville?" Hermione asked.

"Oh," Neville said, his voice sounding funny, "I think I'll just stay here for a while, actually."

"Oh. Alright," Hermione said, casually, as though trying to sound completely reassuring and non-judgemental, "That's fine."

They made their way down the stairs. Harry tried very hard not to judge Neville – maybe he wasn't really afraid. Maybe he just wanted to be by himself for a while. And so what if he was? Who could blame him?

"Wanker," Ron muttered.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed.

Harry found Ginny waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, and her freckles crinkled into a smile of relief.

"They told me you were back," she said.

"Yep," Harry said. He tried to think of something reassuring to say, something clever or funny, but couldn't quite manage it.

"I'm glad you're alright," she said, simply.

"Thanks," he said.

"You will let me know when anything happens? Don't be noble and try and leave me behind?"

"Of course!"

Ginny smiled. She looked for a minute as though she'd like to hug him, but something stopped her. She smiled a similar strained smile as Hermione's, and made a hasty retreat back to the corner, where Dean and Parvati were doing his best to reassure a shaken Lavender. Seamus followed her.

"Ah," Professor McGonagall said, scowling slightly over her spectacles, "There you are."

"Err, yes, sorry," Harry said, reaching into his back pockets, feeling his fingers brush the ancient parchment and the cool glass of the mirror, "Here you are."

McGonagall eyed the blank parchment dubiously.

"He'll know what to do with it," Hermione said, confidently.

Professor McGonagall looked at the three of them, and much to Harry's surprise, her stern expression melted into a warm smile.

"I never knew such students," she said, "For knowing entirely too much. More, even, than I do, apparently."

"No," Hermione stammered, flushing, "Certainly – I mean – we're just – "

"I am very, very proud to have been your teacher," she said, warmly, with the slightest of winks, "One hundred points to Gryffindor."

And with a swish of black robes, and the creak of the portrait, she was gone.

"What does she mean, 'have been' your teacher?" Ron asked, his expression surly.

No one answered him.

The hours dragged. The nervous energy slowly dissipated into sombre quiet. Several students (including Ron and Hermione) had books open, but Hermione was the only one actually doing any work. Others occasionally read one sentence and scribbled something in their notes, but it was clear that no one was making any headway. The occasion didn't exactly call for Exploding Snap, or Gobstones. Ron and Harry thought of playing a round of wizard's chess, but didn't feel like going back up to the dormitory to get their set. Besides, they finally agreed, they'd probably be hard-pressed to concentrate on their moves.

After a while, a few house-elves that Harry had never met brought up several trays of leftovers and neatly-stacked sandwiches, along with a pitcher of pumpkin juice. They set it on one of the tables, and left with deferential smiles. Hermione made a point of thanking each of them, which only seemed to disturb them slightly (and gave Ron cause for a rare snicker). Harry made himself eat, his jaw working woodenly, but everything tasted odd, and most of the food remained on its tray, looking slightly bedraggled.

After a while, the fire in the common room gutted low, and students wandered up to their dormitories in small clumps, under the pretense of getting some sleep. Harry suspected that most of them were ready to be in small groups, with close friends, huddled together in quiet hope and fear.

He, Ron, and Hermione stayed in the common room. There was no doubt that that's where they would wait. Harry noticed that it was primarily D.A. members who remained.

Broderick Johnson came walking over, most of his usual swagger subdued.

"I just wanted to let you know, Harry, that I'm – "

"- staying here," Harry finished for him.

Broderick opened his mouth as though to protest, but simply looked away, scowling at Harry's expression.

"Look, we need help here, Broderick," Hermione said, earnestly, "Ron and I are prefects. If we get called away…you see? We need strong people to keep everyone safe here."

"You're just saying that," Broderick said, but he seemed uncertain.

Ron snorted, "If you think being Prefect's easy – "

"No, no, I didn't say that," Broderick corrected hurriedly. He took a deep breath, and forced a grin, "Right. I understand. You can count on me."

"Thanks, Broderick," Harry said, with a nod.

"He's so young," Hermione whispered, as he walked back over to Arthur Aaronson, and several other first-years.

"We're not exactly ancient ourselves," Harry replied, dryly.

They tried to return to their books for a while, tried to make conversation for a while, and even attempted a half-hearted game of twenty questions, which Ron didn't really understand. ("But what's so special about Harry's trainers? You mean to say we spent the last twenty minutes asking stupid questions about Harry's trainers?") And then, they returned to their homework. After another couple of hours, Ron finally abandoned all pretense, and put his books on the floor with a dull thud, ignoring Hermione's stern glance, and the nervous starts of those across the room. As the hands of the clock drew closer and closer to midnight, everyone else also stopped what they were doing to watch the clock.

At eleven fifty, McGonagall entered via the portrait again, making everyone jump.

"In your dormitories, please," she said, and left just as abruptly.

Most students stood up, and hastened to comply. Several members of the D.A., however, stayed where they were.

"You heard Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, sternly, "Go on."

"And what about you?" Dean asked, pointedly.

"I'm a Prefect," Hermione said, "I need to stay here, in case Professor McGonagall sends further instructions."

Dean narrowed his eyes. Harry could almost hear his objection from his posture: "That's not what she just said."

"Actually," Harry said, quietly, "I've been thinking."

"Right," Hermione muttered, her lips setting into a firm, McGonagall-ish line, "That doesn't bode well."

"What if they can't contact us?" Harry asked, "What if they need us and they have to waste time sending someone to get us?"

"Harry, Professor McGonagall said – "

"When have we ever followed the rules, Hermione?" Ron asked, his blue eyes never leaving Harry's. Harry had a feeling he knew what he was going to say. "Go on, Harry."

"Why don't we take the cloak –"

"No."

" – up to the Astronomy Tower – "

"No!"

"We're coming too!"

"No you're not!"

" – and see what's happening?"

"_No!_" Hermione repeated emphatically, "What if they _do _need us Harry, and we're stuck up in the Astronomy Tower?"

"But if You Know Who is looking for Harry," Ron argued, "Gryffindor's the first place he'll look!"

Several people squirmed uncomfortably at this idea, shooting Harry fleeting glances.

"Besides," Harry said, "Don't you want to know what's happening?"

"I would rather know that we're all safe!" Hermione replied.

"This is my home," Harry countered, his dander rising slightly, "Did you really think I was going to hide here like a good boy and not defend it?"

"Exactly," said Ginny, stepping forward, and nodding firmly, "Besides which, we're not going looking for trouble, Hermione. We just have a right to know what's happening."

"Oi!" Ron protested, indignantly, "Who says you're going?"

"I do," Ginny said, her ears turning red. Harry had never noticed her ears did that too.

"Right! And I'll just explain to Mum and Dad that I let you tag along, and when I have to bring you home in a shoe box – "

"I'm not tagging along with _you_," Ginny hissed, "You're tagging along with _me_, as _I'm_ going regardless!"

"Well, who's idea was it in the first place?" Ron retorted.

"Harry's!"

"Stop fighting!" Harry shouted, "And no one is going home in a shoe box!"

Ron and Ginny looked away from each other, embarrassed. No one wanted to be fighting now, not really.

"If Ron and Hermione are going, we need some people to stay here, take care of Prefects' duties, and relay a message to us if we're needed."

"We'll do it," Seamus said, stepping forward with Dean. Parvati and Lavender stood from their chairs, "No problem."

"We'll keep watch, Harry," Katie Bell promised, standing from her spot on the sofa.

"And I'm going with you," Ginny said, severely, "No arguments."

"Fine," Harry agreed, reluctantly. He didn't want to put Ginny in danger, but there was something that had transpired after the Department of Mysteries last year – something that made him want Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna around him at a time like this.

"You know, we should ask Neville if he wants to come," Hermione said, as though reading his thoughts.

Ron scowled, "If he's hiding behind his bed hangings, I doubt he'd be interested."

"Ron, honestly! That's where we're all supposed to be…in fact, I still can't believe that we're –"

"And Luna," Ginny interrupted, "We should owl Luna. We'll send Pig through the hallways, so he isn't seen…"

"You do that," Harry said, "I'm going to go get the cloak. We won't all fit, of course, but we'll just have to make do. I'll ask Neville while I'm up there."

Harry took the stairs two at a time, his nerves jangling. Finally – after hours of inactivity, it was time to do something. Harry wasn't sure whether he was relieved or even more nervous.

The door swung open with a bang, and Harry heard a sharp intake of breath from behind the velvet hangings of Neville's bed.

"It's me, Neville," Harry said, trying to keep his voice even.

"Oh, err…hi," Neville replied. His voice was shrill. Harry frowned – Neville was his friend, and he certainly didn't want to misjudge him – but now was an awfully bad time to turn coward.

"We're going to the Astronomy Tower. It's almost time."

"Who…who exactly is going?" Neville asked.

Harry stifled a snort of impatience, fishing out his Invisibility Cloak, "You know who. All of us from the Department of Mysteries. Me, Ron, Hermione…_you_," he added pointedly.

"Err…I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't."

Harry blinked, "You can't?"

"I…I can't. Not now."

"Neville," Harry said, trying very hard to keep his temper, "We're _going_ now, do you understand? We won't be coming back later."

"You might never see us again," he thought, but did not say.

"I know," Neville said. He sounded a bit calmer, but Harry still didn't understand what on earth his problem was. "I understand, Harry. But I just can't right now. Don't worry though, I promise I won't let you down."

"You already are," Harry thought viciously, but again, didn't voice his thoughts.

"Alright, Neville," Harry said, quietly, "We'll err…see you later."

"Good luck, Harry," Neville said, calmly, from behind the curtains.

Harry shook his head angrily, and closed the door behind him.

"Knew it," Ron scowled, as he saw Harry coming down the stairs alone, "Wanker. Ouch!"

He winced as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, quite hard.

"Something's up with him. I don't know," Harry said, as though pushing it aside. He heard a shrill hoot, and saw Pigwidgeon tugging a strand of Ginny's hair cheerfully. "Is Luna coming?"

"She owled that she'd meet us there," Ginny said, holding a scrap of parchment.

"What! Doesn't she know how dangerous it – "

"She's already left!" Ginny said, holding up the parchment, "We didn't want to owl back, because we didn't want to call attention to her! You know how she is!"

Harry sighed, "We'd better hurry then. Come on, get under."

"WOAH!" Dean exclaimed, as the four of them disappeared under the cloak, "So _that's_ how you've been doing it!"

"This is rubbish," Ron said, angrily, "Look, it doesn't even cover our feet."

"Can't be helped," Harry said, trying to ignore the fact that Ginny was pressed up in front of him, "Err, why don't we – if you just – oh, hang it."

He wrapped an arm around Ginny's waist, trying to get closer to her.

"Now, Hermione, put your arm over Ginny's shoulder…good, and Ron, take one step back. Alright? Err, now everyone…sort of…crouch a bit."

"Ouch!" Hermione whispered.

"Sorry," Ron apologized, hastily.

"Well, I walk on them, you might as well too," Hermione quipped dryly.

"Everyone ready? Okay, right foot first…aaaaand, go."

It was possibly the most awkward thing Harry had ever done, trying to walk in unison with three other people. Harry heard Dean and Seamus stifling snickers over in the corner.

"Yeah, yeah. Go on, laugh," Ron muttered. Harry sensed rather than saw his neck going red.

"See you later," Harry said, more bravely than he felt.

"Good luck," Lavender said, for all of them.

They somehow managed to stumble through the portrait hole. For a moment, Harry looked at the Fat Lady over his shoulder.

"Are you quite sure that's a good idea?" she whispered quietly.

Harry didn't respond, but kept in time with the others. The Fat Lady sighed, and resumed her resting pose.

Ginny was trembling subtly under his arm. He squeezed gently, more to reassure her than anything else, but he sensed he was throwing off her gait, so he stopped. Hermione stifled the throat-clearing noise she made when she was nervous about an exam. Ginny's hair was in his nose, and their collective, nervous breath, however light, was making the inside of the cloak feel like a strange sauna.

As they passed nearer to the main gate, they could hear voices echoing down through the silent corridors.

"Didn' make it," came Hagrid's booming voice, sounding oddly quiet after rebounding and refracting down the stones, "Came outta nowhere…"

Harry squeezed Ginny sharply, and they ground to an awkward halt, the Cloak threatening to slip off and reveal them.

"Come on!" Hermione breathed, more than whispered.

There was indistinct muttering, and then Hagrid's voice again, in clearly audible sobs, echoing softly:

"Good man…good centaur, Firenze. It's on'y coz of 'im, we made i' at all…"

"No!" Ginny whispered, sounding distraught.

"Shh," Hermione breathed, but Harry had felt her gasp as the news as well.

They awkwardly began once more, Harry taking a few steps to match theirs again. After what seemed like a lifetime, they finally reached the top of the winding staircase to find Luna waiting for them, serenely.

"I can see your feet, Ronald," she said, calmly.

"What d'you mean starting off without us? And on your own?" Ron asked doggedly, as he and Harry lifted the cloak off together, "You could've been hurt!"

Luna shrugged, "I wasn't. Besides, if you'd come to collect me, you would have been going quite far out of your way, wouldn't you? Oh, and do keep your voice down."

"Why?" Harry whispered, who's here?"

"Just them," Luna said, jerking her head over the parapet.

Crouching down, Harry and the rest crawled up to the edge of the stone parapet. Harry put his head against the stone, and slowly craned over his left shoulder, leaning ever so slightly…

"Bugger."

There were two entire rows of them, ranging in a straight line before the castle, white masks hiding their faces and black robes obscuring their forms. Behind them stood four fully-grown giants, towering, hulking, one of them wearing a makeshift crown. If Harry had thought Grawp was impressive, he'd been sorely mistaken – Grawp scarcely came up past their shoulders. Three thestrals suddenly burst up out of the Forest, swooped, and landed once more – a chill ran down Harry's spine – surely there weren't MORE of them, hiding in the forest?

But that was not the worst of it – behind the giants, hovering eager and evil, their ratty black robes wafting in a nonexistent cool breeze, were Dementors…hundred of Dementors. Scabby, slimy hands treading air as though it were ice water, sending a chill down into his stomach.

"Harry!" Hermione whispered, urgently.

"Snap out of it!" Ron whispered.

Harry dropped back down.

"Hundreds of them," he muttered, his chest already feeling cold, "Get those happy thoughts ready."

They chuckled weakly, silently.

"What time is it?" Ginny asked, her voice sounding small.

"Two minutes til," Hermione whispered, "How many Death Eaters, Harry?"

"At least fifty," Harry said, his heart sinking.

"Fifty! But there weren't nearly that many at the Department of –

"It's been a year," Harry muttered, closing his eyes and cursing mentally, his head hitting the stone, "Between recruitment and the Imperius, they could get that many easily."

"So," Ron said, shifting his weight awkwardly. His eyes matched his skin, which was bluish in the moonlight – his freckles seemed purple. "So that means…there's people down there who are just…people? Like, normal people?"

Harry nodded.

"So, err…what do we do if –"

"Oh my goodness," Hermione whispered, shaken – Harry glanced over and saw her peeking over the ramparts, her bushy hair catching the moonlight, "They're huge."

"Alright, let's not panic," Ron said, sounding quite nervous himself.

"Where's Neville?" Luna asked, suddenly, some of the dreaminess having gone out of her voice, "You did invite him, didn't you?"

Ron chuffed quietly, and Hermione nudged him again.

"We asked," Harry said, vaguely, "err, 'invited' him. He didn't come."

"Or wouldn't," he added, mentally.

"Oh," Luna said, sounding relieved, "Well, I'm sure he had his reasons."

Ron snorted again, and tried to cover it by sniffling, to avoid another recriminatory elbow from Hermione.

"Hermione – time?" Ginny asked quietly, to Harry's left.

"**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**," boomed a high, shrill voice. Everyone jumped – Hermione stifled a shriek, and even Luna's face had gone paler, and her eyes even wider (if that was possible).

There was the heavy creak of chains from below, and a warm square of yellow light spilled onto the silver-blue grounds of Hogwarts.

"Is he mad?" Ron goggled.

"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore said, calmly. They could hear every word – he'd obviously used the same _Sonorus_ spell, but was not shouting as Voldemort was.

"**WHERE IS THE POTTER BOY?**"

"I'm afraid you can't have him, Tom," Dumbledore said, sternly, as though chastising a wayward third year.

"**THEN YOU DIE!**"

"There are worse things than death, Tom," the Headmaster replied calmly, "But more importantly, I must tell you as Headmaster of Hogwarts that you can not enter here."

"**CAN'T I?**" Voldemort's shrill voice rang out. Harry heard, muted, the sound of screaming from within the castle – they must have heard him in the dormitories. He hoped that Dean, Seamus, and the rest were doing their best to retain order, "**OR WILL I?**"

"There are many ancient spells protecting this school, as well you know, Tom," Albus continued, reasonably, "And we are prepared to defend it. This is not a wise move."

"**WE SHALL SEE!**" he screeched, enraged. Harry felt a sharp burst of pain, and an irrational wave of fury, before it disappeared totally. He slapped a hand to his scar.

Heads jerked towards him anxiously.

"It's okay. He let it slip – he's really angry. But he pulled away again," Harry said, the memory of the sudden pain still making his eyes water slightly.

"**BLOOD OF THE RIGHTEOUS!**" came the cold screech. It was followed by a dull thump.

"What?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Oh my God," Hermione whispered, clapping her hand over her mouth.

Harry peered over the parapet again, and wished he hadn't.

Lying on the grass, in the warm yellow beam, were the already-decaying remains of what was unmistakably Madame Bones.

"**BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT!**"

Harry thought he was going to be ill.

"Oh," Ginny said, next to him, her voice sounding small again, "Oh…"

With great effort, six Death Eaters dragged forward another carcass – a four-legged one.

Firenze's legs flopped lifeless out of their hands, as they dropped him next to Madame Bones.

"I can't," Ron said gruffly, turning his back on the scene, and dropping to the stone floor. "I just – can't."

His face looked as it had in second year, just before he began vomiting slugs. Harry suddenly missed those days.

"**BLOOD OF THE CASTER!**"

Harry found he couldn't tear his eyes away. They dragged another lifeless, grizzled body, spattered with blood to the pile. Hermione gasped.

"Hermione, do you know him?" Harry asked, urgently.

"That's Aberforth!"

The name seemed to ring a bell with Harry, but he couldn't place it.

"The barkeep at the _Hog's Head_!" Ginny asked, incredulously.

"Yes!" Hermione hissed, her face pale, "That's Aberforth Dumbledore – Albus's brother. He was caretaker here before Argus Filch."

Harry suddenly recalled the photo Mad-Eye Moody had shown him…that was definitely him, lying dead, spread-eagled on the grass…the grass they walked over to get to Hagrid's hut, or the Quidditch pitch…it all seemed so unreal…

"And you didn't see fit to _relay_ that bit of information?" Ron hissed, angrily.

"It's right there in _Hogwarts, a History_!" Hermione snapped, though she was babbling extremely rapidly out of nerves, "I've been telling you for ages to read it, and you never do, must have put some of the more recent wards on Hogwarts, or renewed them, or maybe it's just because he shares Dumbledore's blood, I'm not sure, it's very complicated blood magic, you don't even learn it until post-NEWT level, and besides, do you honestly expect a complete dossier of every stranger we happen across!"

"**AND OF COURSE YOU KNOW, DUMBLEDORE**," came Voldemort's high-pitched voice, heavy-laden with an arrogant sneer, "**I ALREADY SHARE THE BLOOD OF THE PROTECTED – THE ONE YOU HOLD MOST DEAR, CLOSEST TO YOUR FRAIL, BLEEDING HEART LIKE A TRUMP CARD**."

"I believe it is _you_, Tom," Albus said, coldly, "Who is so fond of playing games with other people's lives. If this is not the case, please prove me wrong and release those among you who are under the Imperius."

"_WE ARE THE WILLING SERVANTS OF LORD VOLDEMORT!_" came the ungodly, unsion chant of the masses gathered below, "_THE DEATH EATERS ARE HUNGRY!_" The giants began stomping, to emphasize the point, and to Harry's horror, the Dementors slowly elevated another three feet into the air.

"Lying," Harry muttered, trying to force himself to think of his first broom ride.

"What?"

"He's lying. Plenty of them are under the Imperius."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

He felt another brief twinge, which also ended abruptly.

"Why does he keep pushing me out?"

"Be thankful!" Ron hissed, urgently, "At least he doesn't know we're here!"

Suddenly, the ranks of white-masked Death Eaters parted, and out from their midst came Lord Voldemort, by far the tallest of the human ranks, wearing robes of brilliant scarlet, his red eyes burning through the night, set in his stark, pale face. He was surrounded by three other Death Eaters – one of them he could recognized with burning anger, by his silver hand – the other was a woman, definitely Bellatrix, and he'd stake any amount of Galleons that the one to his left was Malfoy.

"**THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE, YOU DODDERING FOOL**" he hissed, smugly, "**BRING ME THE POTTER BOY! OR HOGWARTS, AND EVERYONE IN IT, FALLS TONIGHT!**"

"_GO AN' BOIL YER 'EAD!_" came Hagrid's roar from below, and the square of yellow light vanished with a loud _SLAM_!

There was a deep, tolling boom which caused them all to clap their hands over their ears – the bells were tolling midnight.

"**DEATH EATERS!**" screeched Lord Voldemort.

"Oh, bugger," Ron muttered, getting into a crouch, and peering over the edge of the parapet. Harry could hear his friends' breathing, clearly, as though they were breathing inside his skull.

Voldemort put one foot on top of the pile of bodies, and there was an enormous _CRACK_! that seemed to rend the very air, and blew Harry's hair back.

"**KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLL!**"


	59. Chapter Fifty Nine

"Oh bugger!" Ron said, even louder. His face was pale and greenish.

Harry watched in horror as the wave of Death Eaters began advancing, slowly but surely on the castle. Suddenly, there was a strange noise sounding from deep in the forest – it sounded like a cross between a moose and an elephant.

"What on earth is that?" Ginny screamed, her hands clamped to her ears. Harry realized that between the cries of the Death Eaters, the booming toll of the bells, and this odd, new trumpeting sound, the din was deafening.

"No idea!" he shouted, "Hermione?"

"Look!" she cried, standing and pointing, all fear instantly forgotten.

Harry leapt up in time to see at least ten thestrals suddenly burst from the forest, black, bat-like wings unfurling and gleaming in the moonlight.

"I thought you couldn't see thestrals!" Harry shouted.

"There's thestrals?" she asked, her eyes widening even further.

Harry directed his gaze to where she was pointing, and recognized with a jolt, where the trumpeting noise was coming from:

Centaurs, at least a hundred, were pelting pell-mell out of the forest, roan, dappled, black, and palomino, their muscles rippling, faces contorted with battle cries, wielding bows and arrows with arms like tree trunks, the thunder of their hooves echoing off the stone parapets. He recognized Bane's dark, hulking frame as he reared in the moonlight, a long, curved horn to his lips, sounding his clarion call amidst the unholy noise.

"Ah," Luna said simply, "The Cavalry."

"I thought they weren't getting involved!" Ginny gasped.

"It's Firenze," said Harry, almost to himself in all the noise – heartache hit his chest like an axe as he saw for the first time that the fury on Bane's face was tracked with tears, glinting slightly in the light of the moon, "It's because of Firenze."

With a roar that reminded Harry of his own encounter with a Norwegian Ridgeback, Bane plunged into a gallop, firing arrows as he went.

The Death Eaters were clearly shocked, but reacted fast, their nerves perhaps giving them an advantage. Centaurs began crumpling to the ground, their own momentum tumbling them head over hoofed heels. Whether they were stunned or killed, Harry could only guess – it was impossible to trace the thicket of light darting its way through the hailstorm of arrows – red, green, purple and gold illuminating the blank white masks and the angry faces of the centaurs. The thestrals keened and wheeled above them, kicking and biting, their moon-dead eyes rolling back in their long, elegant skulls. The giants were trying to swat them away with club-like fists. With a horrible squeal, Harry saw one of their wings crumple under a purple jet of light, watched as Karkus, the giant with the crown, spiked it into the earth like a winged black volleyball, where it was set upon by Death Eaters screeching words Harry had never heard before. A spatter of black blood gleamed on Karkus's front like spilled ink.

"How horrible…" Luna said, stepping closer to the parapet to get a better look. There was a wide-eyed fascination in the way she said it, as though it were not really happening, as though it were all an elaborate and graphic portrait she was observing, "How horrible…"

"Shut up!" Ron said, his set jaw belying his nerves, "Just – shut up!" Hermione was silent, in gaping disbelief.

It was not a long battle – as soon as the Death Eaters were in any real danger, the Dementors began swooping in and out amongst the centaurs.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ Ginny whispered, her wand-tip glowing silver – she couldn't even manage a vapor.

But before she'd even finished the incantation, the Dementors had done their job, leaving the grounds littered both with dead, and with still-living, soul-less horse-men…and Bane was the last centaur left.

He was kneeling, his front foreleg at an odd angle, obviously broken, the other shaking under the strain of his weight. Finally he could no longer maintain the awkward position, and his rear legs collapsed underneath him, his arms flailing for balance. His bow fell from his grasp.

"_Blood!"_ he roared, _"Blood! Mars is bright to –"_

His words, and his life, were ended with a jet of green light.

They hardly had time react, before there was another battle cry from the assembled mob below, and they began advancing on the castle doors once more.

"We should go," Harry said, determinedly.

"I agree!" Hermione said, "We ought to be back in the common room by now, it's obviously not – "

"I mean, we should go help!" Harry repeated, scowling as he headed towards the door, crouching low to the ground…

"No! Harry, please! Just – "

Hermione's words were interrupted by a thunderous boom from below. His need to know what was happening temporarily overriding his urge to help, Harry swore, and ran back over to the parapet.

"Keep your head down!" Ginny hissed like an angry cat, pushing his head lower.

"I've got to see!" he retorted, and checking that the coast was clear, he leaned out over the edge slightly.

The giants had gathered at the door, and were smashing it furiously with fists the size of boulders. The wood was splintering under their assault, but was slowly repairing itself, even as he watched. With a roar of frustration that showed his knobbly, yellow teeth, Karkus threw his shoulder into the door. The metal hinges creaked and whined ominously as they bent and stretched.

"It's not repairing itself fast enough!" Ron said, some of the fear having gone out of his face. He got into a crouching position like Harry, and reached an arm over the side, "Come on! Repar – "

"NO!" Hermione said, heaving him backwards, "We can't give away our position!"

"Hermione, what do you expect us to do!" Ron said, pushing her hand off of his shoulder in a foul temper, his jaw jutting aggressively, "Just watch them break into Hogwarts?"

It was the best thing Ron could have done – all Hermione's fear instantly vanished, and she seemed to grow half a foot, her eyes sparkling with anger. "Ronald Bilius Weasley! It's Harry that they're after! Do you want to give away our position now and jeopardize everything Dumbledore's been fighting to protect?"

"He's fighting to protect the whole school, Hermione, not just me!" Harry protested. The echoing thunderclaps against the creaking timbers, the roars of the giants, and the jeering of the Death Eaters was making Harry's nerves rattle and jangle like Filch's keys, "I should give myself up! At least he'd leave the –"

"No!"

"No way, Harry."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Luna sing-songed thoughtfully.

Any further argument was stemmed by the ear-splitting groan of metal and wood, crescendoing to an almighty crash.

"No… they've breached it!" Harry said, leaping up to take another look.

There was another great roar, and two oddly put-together, grayish figures emerged, climbing over the shattered door, fists swinging.

"It's Grawp!" Hermione cried, clapping a hand over her mouth once more, "Oh, no!"

"And it looks like he has company!" Ron pointed.

"Hagrid did mention he was looking for a lady friend for Grawp…" Harry said, unable to tear his eyes away, "I thought he was joking…" Under any other circumstance, he might have laughed…

The two of them were doing their best against four fully-grown giants, but it wasn't much use. Whoever Grawp's new girlfriend was, she was only a foot or two taller than he, and though they were both putting up a fierce fight, there was really no contest – their noses were quickly bloodied, and their eyes were growing puffy and bruised as they hammered away, without regard to the rain of blows Karkus and his cronies were dealing them. Harry winced as one particularly vicious uppercut from Karkus caught Grawp's new friend under the chin.

With a roar of rage, Grawp flung himself headlong at Karkus's midriff, who actually stumbled backwards, taken aback by his ferocity.

With a stupid, angry bellow, Karkus reached across his torso, and backhanded Grawp across the jaw. His head jerked at a funny angle – Harry got one glimpse at Grawp's dizzy, dazed expression, before his eyes closed and he hit the dirt with a loud thud. It was anyone's guess as to whether he was dead, paralyzed, or merely unconscious. Grawp's friend let out a shrill, piercing cry Harry wouldn't have expected to come from a giant.

"GRAWPY!" came a wounded howl from below.

"No!" Hermione said, her face drawn and panic-stricken, "No, Hagrid, don't!"

But there he was, shooting Stunner after Stunner at the assembled giants. Madame Maxime leapt out to his side a moment later, and Harry thought he recognized her French accent crying out a Conjunctivitis charm. His suspicion was confirmed as Karkus suddenly began squinting, and swatting at his streaming eyes, stumbling backwards until he fell to the earth, leaving a crater upon impact.

Even as the last of the giants was being felled and bound by Hagrid and Madame Maxime's spells, Harry felt a deathly chill as the hundreds of Dementors began sweeping towards the castle.

"Come on!" Harry bellowed. He barely had time to watch a silvery white phoenix burst through the main gates, before he stood, already dashing to the door, "There's too many! We have to go help them!"

For once, there was no argument, as Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Luna leapt to their feet, following him down the staircase. Harry's heart was hammering in his chest. For one breathtaking moment, he missed a step, and seemed to hover in mid-air, his stomach somersaulting – he stumbled, gripping the wall for support, but Ron's arm was instantly in front of his chest, keeping him upright.

"Alright?" he asked, as Hermione, Ginny and Luna swept past.

Harry simply nodded in response, and began running to catch up – he wanted to be first, just in case…in case…

He couldn't think about it.

"Happy thoughts!" he bellowed, as he roughly pushed past Ginny and Luna, "Start now!"

"Quidditch Cup," he heard Ron muttering, breathlessly from behind him, "First kiss…"

Harry concentrated, but it was hard to pull the images to himself…

Winning the Quidditch Cup…Ron's awkward, lopsided grin…Hermione's bushy head resting on his shoulder…the crinkled freckles on Ginny's nose when she smiled….

…Sirius laughing…

Harry rounded the corner and ran smack dab into black, billowing robes.

"_Stupe –_ " shouted the figure.

"_Silencio!"_ Harry cried, more out of panic and instinct than anything else. The words were already out of his mouth before he realized he'd run smack dab into Professor Snape.

"_Finite incantatem!"_ Hermione squeaked, with a nervous wave of her wand, "We're sorry, we're sorry, we just – "

Over Snape's shoulder, Harry could see the rest of the Hogwarts Professors, their faces illuminated by silvery light, wands extended. Dumbledore seemed to be towering above them all, a peaceful smile on his face, surrounded by unearthly, ethereal light. Around their legs, and in front of them, legions of tea-towel clad house elves were alternately concentrating their energy, and casting their hands out towards the main gates, just as Dobby had done when he threw Lucius Malfoy across the room – but where was Dobby? Harry tried to find a glimpse of mismatched socks, or a tiny, hideous blazer…

Hang on - why was Snape back here? Shouldn't he be at the front lines with the professors down the hallway?

Or maybe…

Maybe he couldn't produce a Patronus?

Snape looked absolutely livid, and wasted no time using his regained power of speech.

"Have you lost your tiny Gryffindor minds!" he snapped, furiously.

"Ravenclaw," Luna said in a bored tone of voice, as though weary of constantly reminding people.

"What do you think you're – "

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ Ron roared, and a massive, silvery lion leapt over Harry and Snape's heads, and tackled the Dementor which had already begun swooping down the hallway.

"Watch it!" Professor Sprout called, retroactively.

"Thank you for the prompt warning," Severus snarled, more to himself than anyone else, "Well, Potter? As long as you've decided to play hero, don't just stand there!"

Harry took a deep breath, shutting out Snape's derision, the battle cries, the chill creeping into his chest…

His Mum and Dad were smiling at him, Sirius throwing a lanky arm over each of their shoulders, laughing silently…

…he would probably see them again, soon.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _

The enormous silvery stag erupted out of Harry's outstretched wand, and raced off to join the fray.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

A silver-white otter gamboled joyfully down the corridor next to Ginny's lionness.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ Luna said casually.

Harry was momentarily blinded by a flash of light, and suddenly, a massive silver thestral was winging its way down the hallway, shaking its stringy mane, spindly legs cantering in mid-air.

"Oh," she said, slightly surprised, "I did it."

The wave of silver light swept down the hallway, engulfing the Professors gathered before them before they swept down the hallway. They could hear the agonized screech of the Dementors, as they were forced to flee.

"My word!" Professor McGonagall's voice echoed down the hallway, though they couldn't see her around the corner.

Dumbledore turned his gaze to where they were standing, a frown clouding his features.

"Be careful, Harry. Stay to the rear." His voice was whispering urgently in Harry's ear, as though he was standing right next to him.

Harry nodded jerkily, but panic was gnawing at his insides – what could they do? What was he supposed to do? He couldn't just stand here and watch while –

"What now?" Ron asked, nervously, "Should we, ah –?"

"Absolutely not," Professor Snape barked, wheeling on them again, "You are to go directly – "

"Back! Fall back!" called Mad-Eye Moody's hoarse voice, and all of a sudden, Aurors were backing into the corridor, pushing the Professors behind them.

"Here they come!" shouted Tonks. It took Harry a moment to find her – her spiky hair was jet black, and she seemed to have beefed herself up for battle – the muscles in her arms looked like rocks.

And then it happened – Harry saw the first jet of green light illuminate the faces of the gathered Professors, and fifty roaring voices filled his ears – Harry knew without seeing that Death Eaters were forcing their way through the shattered gates.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Lanceus!"_

"AAAGH!"

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Aurors, Professors, and Death Eaters began shooting spells up and down the corridor, which was illuminated by every shade of light in the rainbow – every once in a while Harry heard the furious cry of a felled Death Eater. Suddenly, several house elves, still illuminated by green light, went flying backwards over the heads of the gathered professors.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, tugging on the back of his shirt.

"We've got to do something!" Harry shouted, raising his wand.

"Foolish boy!" Snape shouted, viciously, gesturing at the knot of Order members, "You have no target – you'll hit them!"

"Fall back!" Moody hollered again, stumping backwards towards them, "Fall – "

Another jet of green light shot down the hallway, and Mad-Eye Moody hit the stone floor with a dull thud.

"_NO!"_ cried Tonks, her normally cheerful face contorted with anger, she leapt clean over his prone form, her wand already slicing through the air, _"STUPEFY! STUPEFY! STUPEFY!"_

"Go. Now!" Snape hissed with a wave of his wand, and Harry felt as though an invisible hand had shoved him forcibly backwards.

"Fall back!" Professor McGonagall's strident voice rang out.

"Harry, come on!" Ron had roughly grabbed his arm, and dragged him backwards – it was only then that Harry realized he'd been rooted to the spot.

"Harry Potter!" squeaked a tiny, desperate voice.

"Dobby!"

The house elf came pelting towards them, wearing one of Hermione's S.P.E.W. hats and his blazer jacket, his tennis-ball sized eyes seeming almost freakish, they were so wide.

"Dobby must protect Harry Potter, and his friends!" he panted, "Dobby will – "

There was a loud boom, a shriek, and suddenly a lively crackling sound reached Harry's ears…smoke began to filter into the corridor above their heads.

"Hurry, Harry Potter!"

They ducked behind the corner, safely out of spell-shot. Ginny roughly kicked open the nearest classroom door.

"Come on!"

They piled into the abandoned classroom, and slammed the door behind them. Harry immediately threw his back against the door, and peered through the crack.

"Harry, please!" Hermione begged, "Please, why are you – "

"Hermione, it comes down to me!" Harry replied, angrily, "I know you want to keep me safe, but I'm the one mentioned in the Prophecy…all this is useless unless I know what's going on! I have to know when it's the right moment!"

"The right moment for what?" shouted Ginny, fear lending a tinge of anger to her voice.

"_Stupfey_!" They could hear Snape snarling, "_Expelliarmus!_"

"Come away from the door!" Hermione barked.

"Mione, I –"

He turned to see her brandishing her wand, jaw set, her hair abnormally large and bushy.

"NOW!"

Harry ducked out of the way.

"_Fenestra Unumvia_!"

A jet of bluish light smacked into the door. The wood slowly began to swirl, like brown paint in water, until it gradually became as clear as a window.

"Good one, 'Mione!" Ron muttered, patting her on the shoulder.

"_Now_ will you come away from the door?" Hermione snapped.

Harry took two jerky steps backward – he could still see Snape in the hallway, sending spell after spell down the corridor. Ginny stifled a shriek as a masked figure suddenly stepped into view.

"Ah…Lucius," snarled Severus, pausing a moment to stand upright.

"Traitor," came a silky sneer, "I suppose there's no point in this façade."

Lucius Malfoy pulled off his white mask. His normally pale face was somewhat flushed, strands of silky blond hair falling out of their tight queue.

"You knew, of course, that you would die for your betrayal," Lucius sneered, "That there could be no other fate for you."

"Bad, bad Master!" Dobby whimpered, rocking back and forth, and looking torn between hatred and fear, "Evil, dark, bad, Master!"

"What is he doing?" Ron whispered, incredulously, "There's a bloody _battle_ going on right behind them!"

"Shh!" hissed Harry half-heartedly, transfixed by the scene before him.

"Of course," Snape replied, coolly, "But I intend to take a few of you with me."

"Careful, Snivellus," spat Lucius, "I made you who you are today. I offered you power when you were powerless. I gave you a family and a father, even when even your own rejected you."

"Your so called 'father' only ever cared how he could use me," spat Snape, "Do you feel powerful now, Lucius? You are as powerless as I am before him – and you are just as expendable."

"Any last words?" Lucius sneered, drawing his wand to chest-height.

"Yes," Snape sneered. Harry felt his stomach clench as he recognized the black pupils dilating, Snape's eyes rolling back in his head, "Your milksop whelp is a puling brat, and I'll see you in hell!"

"Avada Ked – " Lucius screamed. But Snape had let his wand fall, and, moving unnaturally fast, threw himself on Lucius Malfoy, his mouth open painfully wide, canines glinting evil and white, an expression of utter bloodlust on his normally stony, sallow face. Even as Snape threw himself onto Lucius Malfoy, two figures seemed to meld out of the shadows in the corridor – Harry only had a moment to recognize Mieva Pamira's drawn, pale face and bloodred lips before they were gone, screeching down the corridor to feed…

"He's…he's," Ron muttered feebly, "They're…"

"Vampires," Harry replied, his voice sounding strange and high-pitched with tension. He forced himself to swallow. "What now?"

"We have to go back to Gryffindor common room," Hermione said firmly, stepping forward, "No, Harry, no arguments! The Death Eaters are inside now, and you can't defeat Voldemort if you get Stunned or Killed, or who knows what!"

"Besides," Ginny interjected hastily, putting a hand on his arm, "You said it yourself – Gryffindor's the first place they'll look. I guarantee that's where they're headed next, Harry – you've got to stay one step ahead of them!"

Harry look into her chocolate brown eyes, and got the distinct impression Ginny had only said that last part to get him to agree, but another part of him knew she was right.

"Alright," Harry conceded, his nerves jangling, "Well, let's hurry!"

He burst through the door and began running, the others right behind him.

"Here!" screeched a voice. Harry ground to a halt, turning around to spy Rookwood, pointing at him and screaming, "He's here! I've – "

"NO!"

Dobby darted out of the classroom and stretched out his hand, a powerful wave of magic blowing Harry's fringe back. Rookwood would have shot backwards at least a hundred feet, were it not for the hard stone wall located at the end of the corridor, which put an abrupt end to his life.

"Run!" Dobby cried, as the din of shouted spells and anguished cries drew even closer, "Harry Potter, run! Dobby will hold them off!"

"Come on!" shouted Ginny as she and Luna pelted down the corridor.

"Move!" Ron yelled, pushing Harry roughly into a run, Hermione hot on their heels.

A stitch was beginning to develop in Harry's side, but he ignored it.

"You deserve it!" he told himself fiercely, irrationally, "You should have done more! You could have done more!"

His interior rant was interrupted as they reached the portrait hole. The Fat Lady shrieked as they came running towards her.

"Blibbering Humperdink!" Hermione shrieked. The Fat Lady quickly swung open.

"In! In, for goodness sakes!"

The portrait slammed shut behind him.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

Harry's wand was jerked out of his hand, and he watched in horror as Hermione slumped to the ground next to him.

"Wait! _Stop_!" roared Seamus, jumping forward, his sandy blond hair disheveled, and his sweater torn, "It's them!"

Harry heaved an exhausted sigh of relief, and sank to the floor, his back to the portrait.

"_Ennervate!"_ Ron shouted, and Hermione sat up abruptly, scrambling for her fallen wand.

"It's alright!" Ginny said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank God, you _found _them!" Katie beamed at Ron, vaulting over an overturned table to come and meet them.

"Found who?" Ron roared. His ears were splotchy red – Harry reasoned he was probably angry that they'd stunned Hermione. "Have you all gone mad!"

Harry noticed for the first time the bruise on Katie's cheek, and the overturned furniture in the common room.

"Sorry," Dean apologized, as he and Lavender strolled up from behind the sofa, "Saw a bit of action, I guess we're still on edge – well, I'm sure Ron told you all about it."

"_Me!_ What are you – "

"Oh, come off it, Ron, you were brilliant!" interrupted Katie, grinning wickedly.

"Yeah, great job, mate – I thought we'd had it," Seamus laughed, his eyes sparkling.

"Are you all _mental!_" Ron hollered, "Someone explain what's going on!"

Katie's face went pale, "You mean – you don't – were you Obliviated, or something?"

"No, he wasn't," Harry said, standing slowly, his stomach gone icy, "Katie, _what happened_ here?"

Katie was clearly shaken, her pale blue eyes wide, "W-we were attacked, Harry…it was two of them…"

"One of them was bald, and had a silver hand, like," Dean said, frowning.

"Wormtail," Harry spat.

"And there was this crazy lady with black hair," Seamus shuddered, "Looked like a banshee…"

"Oh no!" Hermione moaned, sinking to the floor once more, "A diversion – the entire attack on the gates was a diversion…They sent Bellatrix and Wormtail to get Harry…"

"Or the Secret Keeper," Harry said, glancing nervously at Ron, "How did they manage to get in?"

"T-they had P-p-professor Trelawney with them," Lavender said, her eyes shining. The very thought of it seemed to set her trembling, "We tried to get her away from them, b-but she wasn't… it wasn't…_her_…"

"We think it was the Imperius," Dean said, quietly, "She just crouched in the corner, and when they ran, she ran after them. She wouldn't look at anyone, just kind of stared off into space…"

"So they came in the North Tower," Hermione muttered, "But where are they headed _now_?"

"They might be trying to use her to find you?" Ginny offered, nervously.

"Or worse!" Hermione interjected, her head still buried in her hands, "They could be trying to get the Prophecy out of her!"

"What Prophecy?" Lavender asked, fearfully.

"We set up a kind of barricade," Katie interrupted, pointing to the tables behind them, "Well…"

She turned and eyed Ron strangely, "It was…Ron's idea…And then, after we managed to drive them off, he said he had to go and find you…"

"Shh!" Hermione said, holding up a hand, her ear to the portrait.

"Are you sure?" came Bellatrix's shrill, muffled voice – they could barely make it out.

"Yes! He ran this way!"

"No!" Lavender shrieked, "It's her! They're back!"

"Listen!" Harry shouted, "We'll take them by surprise! You lot stay here and defend the common room – we'll run out there, and scatter – make them chase us!"

"You're mad!" Katie cried, shaking her head vehemently.

"We have to draw them away! You can't hold them off forever, and I don't want them searching the whole of Gryffindor house for me!" Harry shouted, "Besides, we're the only ones who know they've got Trelawney! Dean, Seamus," he barked, "Cover us. Everyone scatter as soon as they see you – Stun as many as possible, and if you find Trelawney, stun her too – if she's under the Imperius, she's dangerous. Meet at the Room of Requirement as soon as possible!"

Hermione looked pale, and opened her mouth to argue.

"No time!" Harry shouted, "Everyone ready?"

"Ready!" said Ron, gravely, poised to sprint. Luna helped pull Hermione to her feet. Ginny gave an involuntary shudder to his left.

"Here it is! It's this one! The Fat One!" shouted the shrill voice from nearby.

"NOW!" Harry roared.

He shoved the portrait hole open, and ducked.

"_STUPEFY_!" Dean and Seamus roared in unison.

Harry launched himself out the portrait hole, nearly stumbling. All he could see were black robes, and the stone floor.

"It's him!" shrieked Bellatrix.

"Stupefy!" he hollered, not bothering to aim, and went pelting hell-bent for leather down the corridor.

"It's the Secret Keeper! And the Mudbl – "

Pettigrew's voice was interrupted by another "Stupefy!" and the portrait hole slammed closed.

"_Ennervate! Ennervate!_ That way, follow them you idiots! The rest of you, with me!"

"Harry!" squealed Ginny.

He risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw Ginny close behind him. He reached back, and gripped her forearm, dragging her up level with him. The only sound Harry could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, Ginny's desperate panting breaths, and the clatter of footsteps, their own, and their pursuers, close behind them, far too close…

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ Bellatrix shrieked.

Ginny screamed as a jet of green light narrowly missed her. Harry jerked her arm roughly as he darted down a side-corridor, dragging her with him.

"_Silencio!"_ he roared, pointing his wand at the door of Filch's broom closet.

He kicked it in, threw Ginny inside, and followed immediately after, slamming it noiselessly behind him.

"_Colloportus!"_ Ginny squealed, and it sealed with a silent squelch.

They panted heavily, trying to catch their breath.

"Is your arm alright?" Harry whispered.

Ginny nodded, unable to speak…she was clutching her shoulder, trying not to wince.

"S-s," stuttered another voice, to Ginny's right.

"_Lumos_!" Harry whispered, trying to control the volume of his voice as best he could.

"_Protego!_" Ginny cried, desperately, at the same time.

But it was unnecessary. At the sound of their voices, Draco Malfoy had dropped his wand, and resumed cowering into the far corner of the broom closet.

"Draco!" Harry whispered, incredulously, "What on earth are you – "

But he fell silent as footsteps clattered to a halt outside the door.

"Where did they go?" shouted a rough, male voice.

Bellatrix cursed violently, and then ordered, "You two, back that way. I'll go ahead. You, start checking doors."

There was another clatter of feet. Harry heard whoever was left open the classroom door across from them, and then slam it violently. Harry took a moment to glance at Draco Malfoy.

His pale, sweaty face was completely devoid of his usual arrogant sneer. Several strands of blond hair were stuck to his cheek. One foot was stuck in Filch's mopping bucket, half-full of dirty water, and he was gripping onto the brooms behind him, desperate to keep them from falling over, alerting anyone to his presence. His gray eyes met Harry's, wild with desperation.

"I can't die," he said, in a choked whisper, "I can't…they'll kill me…when my father – "

"Shut up!" Ginny whispered vehemently. The footsteps paused outside, in the corridor.

Draco bit his lower lip painfully, and squinched his face shut. Harry felt anger and disgust well up inside him. It was impossible that this was the same Draco Malfoy who'd ill-temperedly shoved him to the ground only a few hours ago, the same Draco Malfoy that actually still cared about who had which kind of blood, and who delighted when Gryffindor lost points. That arrogant, self-absorbed –

But looking at the sniveling cringer before him, Harry almost _missed_ that Draco Malfoy. He was tired of this. He was sick and tired of it. He wasn't going to run and hide like this _ferret_.

He kicked the door open, catching the Death Eater square on the face with a loud, "Oof!"

"_Stupefy_!" he roared, and with a jet of red light, the Death Eater hit the ground.

"Hurry!" Ginny said, galvanized back into motion, "They'll have heard that!"

"Wait," Draco said, "Just – wait!"

He had regained his wand, though it was shaking desperately in his hands. He still didn't daring to move from his spot, pressed up against the brooms, but there was a crazy, feverish glint to his eye.

"Can't," he snivelled, "My father…I can't let you…"

"_Petrificus Totalis_!"

Draco's limbs snapped rigidly to his sides, and he fell sideways, his head hitting the stone painfully.

Harry leaned down, until they were eye to eye, Draco wincing from the pain in his skull.

"Stay here," Harry muttered through gritted teeth, as though he had a choice, "You owe me one…and you have some _serious_ thinking to do."

"Harry!" Ginny squealed, tugging at his sleeve, "Come on!"

Harry slammed the closet door, disgusted at the relief printed on Draco's sweaty, frightened face.

Ginny led the way this time, Harry doing his best to overtake her. He kept trying to glance behind him, to see if they were following him.

"They're about thirty meters behind," shouted one of the portraits, a portly wizard wearing medieval robes.

"Thanks!" Harry shouted.

"Where are you heading?" cried a witch to his left.

"Room of Requirement!" shouted Ginny.

All of a sudden, it was as though the entire corridor was shooting upwards, like an elevator. Ginny tripped and fell flat on her front, Harry tumbling over sideways. The portraits and doors were shooting by them rapidly – it was like the walls had been replaced with slot machines.

Finally the corridor came to stop.

"Room of Requirement!" shouted a nearby portrait of a frizzy-haired witch, "In! Hurry!"

"Thanks!" Harry managed weakly. He stumbled dizzily to the door, Ginny staggering towards him as well.

"Hide!" he thought desperately, "Place to hide!"

He flung open the door, and staggered in, Ginny slamming it behind him. He looked around for a moment at the apparently empty room…

"Harry!"

All of a sudden, Arthur Aaronson and Broderick Johnson appeared, as though out of nowhere, and began helping him and Ginny to their feet.

"What's going on, here?" Harry asked.

"Harry!"

Hermione and Luna stepped forward, also seemingly out of nowhere.

"We didn't know where else to go," Arthur squeaked, "After the first attack, we figured the common room wasn't safe anymore, so we came here…"

"W-w-we kn-knew you'd sh'wup ev-v-entually," Broderick said, trembling.

"The room did something," Arthur continued squeaking. He'd forgotten to stutter in all the urgency. "If we just stand still no one can see us…"

"Stay here," Harry said, severely, "_Don't_ go into the corridors again! It's not – "

"Harry!" Hermione said, gripping his arm, her face pale and worried, "Where's Ron?"

"He's not with you?" Ginny said, the color draining from between her freckles.

Harry felt as though an icy cold fist had seized his heart. But more than that – he knew. His nightmares began to replay in his mind, in slow motion…

No…This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

"Wait here," he said, and without waiting for reply, ran from the Room of Requirement.

His feet carried him horribly forward, as though they knew exactly where he was going. It was as though he were watching a terrible movie, and he knew the ending, but he couldn't change it…For a while, he only heard his own footsteps.

Then, horribly, an all-too-familiar voice began reverberating off the corridor walls…

"But you're going to die either way...surely you knew that? Don't you want to ease your suffering before you go? I can make it quite painless, you know..."

Harry heard a ragged, weary laugh of triumph. "Can't m-make me...tell you."

No. No. This wasn't happening. Not – happening!

Harry willed his legs to move even faster, as the voice echoed up the staircase. Harry flung himself down them, two at a time, commanding himself not to trip. He had to make it in time. He had to.

"Tell me, little hero, was it worth it?" Bellatrix simpered, "The sum total of your mediocre life is about to be thrown away...and all for a boy named Harry Potter. The meaning of your pathetic little existence is entirely defined by someone else. What makes him so special and you so un-special? What makes you willing to be second best, time and time again? Would it be such a crime to give in? Even Harry himself wouldn't begrudge you a painless death..."

He'd reached the bottom of the stairs. There they were, at the end of the corridor – flickering flames making their shadows leap up onto the wall, unreal and huge…He wouldn't let his nightmares become reality – he could change them. He could write his own ending…

"Never...Might as well...kill me," panted Ron's voice triumphantly – he sounded strange – high pitched, and off, somehow – Bellatrix must have hit him in the mouth.

"Oh, we can do better than that," Bellatrix Black said, her baby voice sweetly menacing, "Now beg, little hero...Beg for death..."

"_I'LL KILL YOU!"_ The cry ripped from his throat, his legs suddenly working beneath him, charging down the flickering corridor, and he was there –

"_Crucio!"_

Harry flung himself in front of the curse – the last thing he saw before the pain hit was Ron's shocked face, gaping up at him from the ground, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

The familiarity of the sensation in no way prepared him for the searing knives, jabbing his flesh – Harry screamed. For a moment he knew nothing but the pain, not even his own name. And then, with an almighty effort, he threw it off.

"Wha – Potter!" screeched Bellatrix.

He took advantage of her shock.

"_Stupefy!_" he hollered. For one horrible moment, he thought he'd missed – amidst all the other pain, he hadn't even felt himself hit the ground, so he hadn't had time to adjust his aim. Bellatrix flung herself to the floor as soon as he hollered the incantation – but after the blinding flash of red light, she lay still on the floor.

Harry turned, and reached a hand out to Ron, who was pushing himself upright against the wall, one of his arms obviously broken.

"Alright, Ron?" he asked, feeling as though he was either going to laugh or cry of relief.

Ron's eyes suddenly went wide and fearful.

"Gah!" cried Ron ineloquently. He apparently didn't have time to articulate, for in that very same moment, he seized Harry about the shoulders and roughly shoved him to the side.

and the wind was knocked out of Harry as he hit the stone floor once more, several ribs cracking in the process.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!" shrieked Bellatrix, that very same moment.

The wind was knocked out of Harry as he hit the stone floor once more, several ribs cracking. He watched, his whole torso protesting, as the jet of green light moved in slow motion over his head, just a scant foot or two above him, and connected squarely with Ron's chest. His blue eyes went wide in surprise, an expression all-too-achingly familiar, and his ginger head connected with the stone wall with a sickening "smack!"

Harry didn't hesitate. He didn't even think.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!" he roared, pointing his wand at Bellatrix.

She had only a split second to realize - to realize that she had missed, that she was doomed, and that it had been a very bad mistake indeed to kill the people Harry Potter loved most - before the green light had erupted from Harry's wand, and seized her. Her shocked, pale face, made gaunt through years of evil, glowed an eerie green that made Harry nauseous. She fell first to her knees, her red lips jerking spasmodically, and then crumpled to the floor, her long, stringy black hair fanning out on the stones – dead.

Harry heard footsteps running towards him.

"Let them come," he thought, letting his head fall back, wearily, "Let them kill me. I don't care."

He felt utterly drained, and somehow despoiled…as though something cold, slimy, and scabrous as a Dementor's hand had reached into his chest and stroked a bony finger down his heart, and he would never be clean again – he had the sudden crazy urge to tear his own chest open, and scrub away at his heart, scrub until it bled clean again…his scar seared, and he though he heard high-pitched laughter, though it was hard to separate from the ringing in his ears…

The footsteps stopped abruptly.

"Oh, God," Ginny's quiet whimper came.

"What should we do?"

That was Arthur Aaronson – he'd recognize that squeak anywhere.

"Go get help," Ginny whispered, robotically, "Now. Go."

Two sets of feet pelted down the hallway.

"Ron? _Ron!_" Ginny's voice was getting more and more desperate, "_Harry!_"

"Mmn." Harry was being shaken. He opened his eyes to see Ginny gaping down at him, and he supposed he ought to say something reassuring, but could think of nothing, so he just stared, stared straight through her…

"Hermione! He's alive!" Ginny shouted, smacking Hermione on the leg to get her attention, "Check on Ron!"

"Oh god," Hermione muttered. She came into Harry's field of vision as she knelt down next to Ron, seizing his shoulders, shaking him…

"Wake up. Wake _up!" _Harry couldn't tell whether she was talking to Ron or herself.

"Harry?" Ginny asked, her chocolate brown eyes finding his again, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

He couldn't even begin to find the words.

"Bellatrix…" he muttered.

"Is she stunned, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "Dead."

Ginny's mouth dropped open – her face was pale, making her freckles stand out, and her ginger hair look even redder…Harry couldn't stand to look at her. He squinted his eyes shut.

"Wake up!" came Hermione's voice, sounding more like her bossy self, "_Ronald Bilius Weasley_, you wake up this _instant_, or – or I'll – I'll _never_ forgive you!"

Harry felt Ginny's hands leave his shoulders. No. He had to tell them, first – tell them not to look…He heaved himself to his side, struggled to sit up.

"_Ennervate!" _

Hermione was waving her wand over Ron's prone form, his head in her lap. Her voice was getting higher and more frantic again, as she sobbed for breath, "_Ennervate!"_

"No," Ginny said quietly, kneeling next to her brother, her voice suddenly very deep and calm, "No. No."

"_Ennervate, Ennervate, ENNERVATE!"_

Hermione's wand arm fell limply to her side, and put her head back against the cold stones, tears streaking silently down her face, her chest shaking.

"Ron?" Ginny asked, sounding very young.

"_GAAAH_!" Hermione finally howled – she didn't seem to be able to breathe unless she was screaming or crying.

"Ron?" Ginny asked again, her voice very high-pitched now, "_Ron_?"

"What's going on here?" came a familiar, impossible voice, "Holy buggering hell! That's me!"

Harry followed it to its source, to see Ron standing there in all his tall, gangly glory, every ginger hair and freckle perfectly in place, blue eyes fixed in an expression of nervous confusion, with Luna Lovegood and Broderick Johnson at either flank.

"They were in the Room of Requirement," Broderick said, hastily, "They were the only ones there…"

"Who are you!" Hermione shrieked angrily up at the other Ron, standing there with that old befuddled expression on his face…She reached for her wand again, "_Get away!_"

" 'Mione!" Ron said, sounding wounded, "What…? Harry, are you alright?"

"Oh," Luna said, quietly, sounding quite unlike herself…For once in her life, Harry thought she looked genuinely disturbed.

"Move – move!" barked Professor McGonagall's familiar voice, as she came running forward with Albus Dumbledore, Arthur Aaronson, and Kinglsey Shacklebolt, who was wearing a Death Eater's Robes, and had his arm heavily bandaged.

"Must have been the Imperius," Harry thought, dully, "At least they all survived."

She was pulled up short by the sight before her.

"What on earth are you all doing! Get back to your common rooms, we still don't know if any of them are left lurking about the…"

She trailed off as her eyes moved from Ron Weasley standing next to Luna to Ron Weasley whose head was lying in Hermione's lap.

"_Incarcerous!"_

Thick ropes shot out of Professor McGonagall's wand, tying Ron Weasley tightly – he gave a yelp, and almost tumbled over, but Broderick and Luna put a steadying arm on either side of him.

"I apologize, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, her mouth a thin line, "Just a precaution."

"Check his pockets," Dumbledore said, sadly. Harry groaned inwardly – what had Dumbledore already guessed? "I believe there has been a terrible misunderstanding."

Hermione and Ginny quickly checked the prone Ron's pockets, and Ginny held up a sickly familiar purple end of a Snackbox.

"Under his tongue, then, please," Dumbledore said, sadly.

Harry struggled to a sitting position, and watched as Ginny gingerly put the purple end of the Snackbox into the dead Ron's mouth, as a still-living Ron looked on, still bound by ropes and looking pale and confused.

There was a moment's pause, and slowly, the Ron lying on the floor became not-Ron, his ginger hair turning smoother and blonder, his face growing pudgier…

"No," Luna said, calmly, "There's obviously been some kind of mistake."

Neville Longbottom lay with his head in Hermione's lap, a peaceful expression on his face. He looked positively angelic – it was horrible. Harry was reminded inexorably of the smile on Theodore Nott's face, after the Dementors had gotten to him, still disguised as Neville…All he had to do was superimpose the dark, frozen veins onto the face before him…the lips turned blue…

"This isn't real," Luna said, calmly, letting go of Ron, and sitting abruptly on the stone floor, "Any moment now I shall wake up." Harry heard the faintest of quivers in her voice.

"I'm afraid it is real, Miss Lovegood," Dumbledore said, his face infinitely sad and careworn, as he Evanesced the ropes binding Ron with a casual flick of his wand. Harry could tell the battle had taken a lot out of him already, and to be confronted with the death of yet another student…

"I should have done more," Kingsley said, his normally deep voice sounding strange with emotion, "I ought to have – "

"No one is blaming you," Professor McGonagall said, quietly, "Not everyone can fight off the Imperius curse on their own."

"Wh – _Why?_" Hermione stammered. She'd gone from utter grief to utter shell-shock. Ginny was crying quietly, her face in her hands.

"I believe Mr. Longbottom was attempting to provide a diversion," Dumbledore said, removing his spectacles wearily, to wipe the grit from his eyes, "He came to me after the events at the last Quidditch match, extremely upset that he'd almost betrayed Harry's secret…he wanted to know how else he could help. I told him that there was nothing more he could do, but I believe he took matters into his own hands."

"By pretending to be me!" Ron asked, incredulously. His voice sounded oddly hollow, and he looked as though he might be sick at any moment, "And is that Bellatrix Lestrange on the floor!"

"I believe Neville was attempting to provide a diversion – he most likely got the idea directly from Theodore Nott, who impersonated _him_, also by use of a Polyjuice Snackbox. He knew the Death Eaters would be looking for Harry's Secret Keeper, and that if they captured him, Harry and his family would no longer be safe. However, if they captured Neville, _believing_ him to be Ron, they could never force the Secret from him, no matter how hard they tried. So he ordered a Polyjuice Snackbox from Fred and George – they, of course, would sell to Neville – what reason would they have to object? He might have even told them it was for the D.A…"

Harry's stomach turned…he remembered Neville had been sitting on Ron's bedspread that night – It would be so easy to pinch one of Ron's characteristic ginger hairs…

"_I can't right now,"_ rang Neville's voice in his memory, obscured by the velvet hangings around his bed, _"But don't worry, Harry. I won't let you down."_

"In essence, he turned himself into a decoy," Dumbledore concluded, wearily, "If he couldn't keep the Secret, he could protect the Secret Keeper, and by extension, you, Harry."

"Except of course, that's not Neville," Luna said, her voice extremely high-pitched, pale blue eyes wide and determined, "No, it's someone else. A Metamorphmagus. Obviously."

"Metamorphmagi can't transform once they've…passed on," Professor McGonagall said gently.

"This one can," Luna said, fiercely. Ginny's sobbing grew a bit louder.

"I should get Harry to Headquarters," Kingsley said, shaking his head slowly, "We don't know if there are Death Eaters left in the castle, or where The Dark Lord might be."

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, "You'll have to – "

"I'll take Harry on the planned escape route," Kingsley said, firmly, taking Harry by the arm, and hoisting him to his feet.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall said, "We'll take the rest back to their common room, and conduct a more thorough search of the school."

Harry didn't even think to say goodbye to Ron, Hermione, Ginny, or Luna…all he could think about was…

"Disgusting," the voice in his head said, "You murderer, you disgusting, selfish…he saved your life…and you performed an Unforgiveable…he was noble, and you're practically one of them. You were too late to save him…it's because of you…it's all because of you…"

"Come along, Harry."

Kingsley was walking awfully fast. His grip was firm on Harry's arm. He wanted to tell him to wait, tell him to give him a moment to collect himself, tell him that half his ribs were broken, that he'd done dark magic and didn't deserve to live…But it was better, he supposed, that he get to safety as fast as possible.

He was leading him to the Main Gates – bodies littered the hallway, whether stunned or dead, Harry could not say. He recognized Mad-Eye Moody's matted gray hair, and forced himself to look away, lest he recognize anyone else. Smoke filled the air, there were dark stains on the walls that Harry didn't care to identify, and the ashes of the main gate swirled, and stung as they walked through them.

"Are you sure about – "

"Yes," Kingsley said, "The grounds are secure...No one will bother us, Harry. Besides, we have to get off Hogwarts Grounds in order to Apparate."

He was going to ask why they didn't just use a Portkey, or Floo from Dumbledore's office, but he was too weary to form words, and found that he didn't really care what the answer was. This all felt far too familiar.

"This is how I felt," Harry thought, dully, "When Cedric died. Only worse."

"Come on," Kingsley said. As much as he wanted to assure Harry that it was safe to be outside, his voice was rather higher than usual.

They reached the Whomping Willow, which immediately began thrashing. Kingsley took out his wand, and with a muttered spell, sent a pebble flinging at the knot at the tree's roots. The Willow immediately stopped its Whomping, and the small tunnel opened up.

"After you, Harry," Kingsley said, nudging Harry ahead of him, "We'll go to the Shrieking Shack first, and Apparate from there."

Robotically, Harry climbed down into the tunnel, Kingsley scrabbling after him.

"Dumbledore must have told you about the secret passageway."

"Mm? Yes, yes. Keeps the Order well informed of any developments."

But something about all this didn't smell right.

"Why don't you go ahead?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry, I think you ought to stay ahead, so I can watch your back," Kingsley said. There was something odd in the way he walked – stooped, and ungraceful.

"How's the arm?" Harry asked.

"Hmm?"

Harry pointed at the bandaged arm still in a sling, that Kingsley was using to push a root out of his way.

"Oh," Kingsley said, "Still hurts. I suppose I didn't notice…with everything…We really must get going, Harry, I want to get you back to Headquarters as soon as possible."

"And where is Headquarters?" Harry asked, pointedly.

"Where?"

"What's the address?"

"The address?"

"Why are you repeating the question?" Harry asked, bluntly, "Just tell me where –"

"_Accio wand_!" Kingsley shouted, in reply, and Harry's wand zipped out of his back pocket, and was darting through the air. Harry quickly stretched out an arm to grab it, and immediately regretted it – his ribs exploded in pain, and he gritted his teeth, hunched over, with one arm wrapped around his trunk and the other leaning on the gritty tunnel wall for support. Kingsley had reached to grab the wand – but his bandage caught on the root he'd been holding aside, ripping it asunder –

The glint of silver was unmistakable, even in the dim light of the tunnel.

"Wormtail," Harry said, quietly.


	60. Chapter Sixty

Author Notes: Jenn the Freak, you were officially review number 1000…wow, 1000 reviews…I'm so grateful, everyone :- ) Jenn, just e-mail me your address, and I will mail you your very own pack of Harry Potter trading cards! I know, it's not much…but I want to say thank you, to everyone who's supported me, and this fic…I would never have gotten this far without you! If you're bummed about not winning, you'll have another chance! Check the reviews for details…And now: To business. Enjoy, and thank you again!

"Don't call me that," Peter Pettigrew said in his normal, wormy voice, pocketing Harry's wand. It was bizarre to hear Pettigrew's voice, see Pettigrew's stooped posture, and fidgety hands all performed through Kingsley's tall, muscular frame – like some kind of twisted Punch and Judy show.

Now he'd done it. Away from everyone who could help him, no wand – fine work, Harry.

But another thought was nagging him, even now…had he known? Had he let it happen? Was he just so tired, so…so…

"So ready to die?" whispered a quiet voice in his mind.

"Get moving," Peter said, coldly, jabbing his wand at Harry once more, clenched tightly in his silver fist.

Dean's words came back to haunt him: _"One of them was bald, and had a silver hand, like,"_ he had frowned.

As bald as Kingsley Shacklebolt. Why hadn't he put it together?

"You must have been here a lot with my Dad," Harry ventured, dully, dragging his trainers, trying to take more time. He knew what was coming – Pettigrew had to be taking him to Voldemort. But where, and how?

"Keep moving," Peter snapped. He was trying to stay cold, forget that he even knew Harry – he prodded him roughly with the point of his wand.

"And Sirius, and Remus of course," Harry continued, "Of course, it's only you and Remus, now."

"Shut up!"

"Didn't I spare your life, once?" Harry asked, still dragging his feet, "Oh yes, Sirius was going to kill you…right here, actually. Perhaps I should have let him."

"Shut _up_ and _keep moving_!" Peter snarled, though there was a tinge of desperation in his voice.

"I imagine you're feeling quite chuffed," Harry said, trying to build his anger – he would need it. Or was he building Wormtail's anger? "First you hand Voldemort my parents – " He noticed, oddly, that Pettigrew was flinching at the sound of his Master's name – "And now you hand me over, practically gift-wrapped. How do you think he'll reward you, Wormtail? Do you honestly believe he'll let you live in the end?"

"I said shut it!" Peter cried, though he now sounded thoroughly disturbed.

Harry kept his silence the rest of the way down the tunnel – there was no fighting it, really. Pathetic though he was, Peter Pettigrew had both Harry's wand and one of his own, and he sounded desperate – Harry knew only too well was Peter was capable of when backed into a corner.

Harry stepped into the Shrieking Shack, which groaned and creaked in the wind as usual, dust falling from the timbers above his head.

"Go on," Pettigrew said, with another sharp prod from Harry's wand, which caught his broken rib and made him gasp aloud, "Up the stairs."

Harry wondered dully what Voldemort had in store for him, and found, shockingly, that he didn't care. It was as though everything had been emptied from his heart – Neville was dead, and it was his fault. And worse, even worse than that (if there could be anything worse), he had died in vain. Harry wasn't a good person – he wasn't even worth saving. All the people who had put their faith in him, their trust, now knew he was a murderer, no better than the cringing, filthy coward behind him. Worse, in fact: Pettigrew had never dealt the killing blow to his parents, even though he was an instrument of their deaths.

These thoughts carried Harry mutely into the chamber where he'd first met Sirius, and Peter Pettigrew, for that matter, that fateful night three years ago. It looked much as it did then: decrepit. There were still some tracks faintly visible in the dust, places where it had been disturbed. Were those Sirius's ghostly footsteps on the floor there? Remus's? Or were they Theodore Nott's, hurriedly downing his Snackbox and putting on Malfoy's spare uniform to sneak into Hogwarts?

"It _is_ haunted," Harry thought, morosely.

Harry's eyes raked the broken, clawed chair in the corner. Had Remus destroyed it? When had he? When he and Sirius and James were all still young, and alive?

"Right," Peter snapped, giving Harry an excruciating push forward, "On the count of three, I'm going to grab your arm, and we're going to Apparate. And no funny business!"

"I think not," came a strident, angry voice, and Harry looked up to find Remus Lupin stepping out of the shadows. Harry recognized the telltale swish of an Invisibility Cloak, as Remus's fist, then the rest of him suddenly came into view, and the shimmering garment fell to the dusty floor.

"R – Remus!"

"_Accio wands_!" Lupin shouted, and Harry's wand flew out of Pettigrew's hand, but Pettigrew's own, the one clutched in his silver hand, remained.

"Hello, Peter," Remus said quietly, dangerously – he reached into his pocket, and waved a worn bit of parchment in the air…Harry recognized the Marauder's Map.

"Borrowed a few tricks from James, though I suppose you remember that, even now. I've been waiting for you."

Harry felt a sudden wave of relief – everything was going to be alright. He'd have to thank Hermione for thinking to give the map to McGonagall…obviously Lupin had recognized it, had thought to check for Pettigrew – had known all the ins and out, the secret entrances and exits…perhaps that was one of Mad-Eye's cloaks…Mad-Eye who was currently lying dead in the main hallway…

"W-what d'you…Remus, it's me, Kingsley…Kingsley Shackle – "

"I thought you'd use this route tonight," Lupin snarled, "Can't Apparate out of Hogwarts, can you? Nor create a Portkey – Dumbledore learned that lesson from the Triwizard Tournament. Using the tunnel, and the Polyjuice Snackbox – After all, it worked for Theodore Nott…and Dumbledore would never expect you to be so stupid as to use the same route twice. Besides, isn't it just like you to exploit our trust, every advantage, every secret – "

"_P-Petrificus_," Wormtail began, flustered, but Lupin was too fast for him.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Pettigrew's wand jumped out of his hand once more, and clattered to the floor. Harry made to grab it, but again, the pain throbbing through him made it impossible. He fell to the floor with an agonized grunt, managing at least, to knock the wand away as he fell.

"Harry?" Lupin asked, concernedly. Harry caught a glimpse of his worried, scarred face, before he wheeled on Wormtail, absolute fury now stamped on his mild features, "What have you done to him, you filthy – "

"Rat?" Wormtail spat, in return. He drew himself up to his full height (which, in Kingsley's body, was actually a bit fearsome), "That's all you ever thought of me, wasn't it, Remus?"

"You know that's not true."

"Well, it was true of Sirius and James. Calling me names, cracking wise about me when they thought I couldn't hear. Maybe if they had – "

"Come off it, you sorry sack of Streeler spit!" Remus snarled, looking murderous, "Maybe that's what you tell yourself at night, but don't think I'm going to buy that sob story for a second – James Potter and Sirius Black were the best thing that ever happened to you – the best thing that ever happened to me!"

His eyes went a bit wide in surprise – it seemed he hadn't planned to say that, and was surprised that it had come out of his mouth.

"And you killed them," he finished, his eyes growing wild and bright, "You killed them both…and Lily. Who else, Wormtail? Was it you who killed that Muggle over at the Riddle place? Did you kill Kingsley too? How many have died tonight because of you?"

"You're not the boss of me anymore, Remus!" Pettigrew shouted, sounding disgustingly juvenile for a man his age, "You of all people should know that it's dog-eat-dog out there…well, I've got a different pack, now. The Marauders are dead! It's over! Now…stand aside, or…or I'll kill you!"

"Well, you ought to be quite practiced at that by now," Remus whispered, viciously, "But I'll be damned if you're going to take Harry from me."

"Fine with me," Pettigrew snarled, and lunged for Remus, his silver hand outstretched.

Remus seemed momentarily shocked – Harry could tell that he'd never expected Pettigrew to attack him head-on…But this was not the same Peter Pettigrew Harry remembered from the Shrieking Shack, either. Something about his new hand, perhaps, had poisoned him, an extra touch of madness lending daring to his cowardice.

"_Stupefy!" _Remus finally managed to yell, stumbling backwards, but Pettigrew held up his silver hand, and the red light bounced off of it, narrowly missing Harry on the ground. Remus was about to stumble over the chair, when Pettigrew reached out, and wrapped his silver fingers around Remus's throat.

"_AAAAGH!"_ Remus cried, and at the same time, an odd, metallic sizzle reached Harry's ears. Sweet, foul-smelling smoke began to issue from between Pettigrew's fingers.

"_NO!"_ Harry cried, the effort making his chest explode with pain, as he struggled to get to all fours. Where had that blasted wand gone?

"Did you think it was an accident," Peter snarled, "That this little gift from my Master was made of pure silver? Full moon coming on, is it? I've been waiting for this, Remus. How does it feel to finally be the weak one, the foolish one? Where's James and Sirius now, Remus? Who's small and fat and stupid and useless now?"

The skin of Remus's neck had now turned black, and he was no longer able to scream. His hands scrabbled furiously on Wormtail's arm, but gained no purchase. The look of pure hatred burning in Remus's bloodshot eyes slowly turned desperate - his tongue was beginning to protrude.

"_STOP!"_ Harry yelled, _"STOP IT!"_

"Why?" snarled Pettigrew, "Why should I?"

"_YOU OWE ME!"_ Harry roared.

Pettigrew paused, and turned to look at Harry. Harry again felt unnerved at seeing Pettigrew's shifty gaze come from Kingsley Shacklebolt's normally calm, sober face. Pettigrew's grip seemed to loosen slightly on Remus's throat, though the sizzling sound didn't abate.

"I saved your life," Harry spat hurriedly, fully aware that Remus could be dying, even now, "You owe me a wizard's debt. Let him go, now!"

"And?" Pettigrew asked nervously, his eyes narrowing.

"And I'll consider your debt repaid!"

Remus looked horrified, and was trying to kick Pettigrew, and shake his head "No" to Harry at the same time, but Harry ignored him.

"No tricks?" Peter Pettigrew asked, supiciously, "And you'll come quietly?"

"I swear!" Harry cried in desperation, "Just put him down!"

"Fine."

Pettigrew dropped Remus carelessly. The sizzling sound faded, and there was a dull thump as Remus fell to the ground, gasping and croaking for air.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling a lump rise in his throat, though whether it signified tears or panic, Harry couldn't say, "I'm so sorry, Remus."

Remus caught his eye, and tried to croak something to Harry, but it was unintelligible. He reached out a hand to Harry.

"I'm sorry!" Harry choked out, reaching for Remus's hand.

"This might be our last chance to say goodbye," Harry thought, wildly.

But Pettigrew gave Remus's reaching hand a rough kick.

"No tricks!"

Anger welled up in Harry – anger unlike any he'd ever known.

He'd killed once. He could kill again.

"You – _YOU!_" he roared, and with a supreme, painful effort, flung himself forward, gripping Wormtail's robes, trying to pull himself upright.

Wormtail simply grabbed Harry's arm.

There was a sudden, loud "snap!" and a bizarre sensation that make Harry's ears pop, and before he even had time to think, the wooden floor under Harry's knees had changed to cold, black marble, and the light was no longer the wan, pale light of the moon, but blue, and flickering…

Harry's heart sank in his aching ribcage, and he let go of Wormtail's robes weakly. He was back in the Corridor, the Corridor that led to the Department of Mysteries.

"_Imperio!"_

Harry felt the familiar sensation of relaxation, but none of the bliss he had felt previously – he was too far gone, too deep in pain to let go entirely.

"Get up," Wormtail's voice whispered in his ear.

Harry's feet carried him upwards smoothly, the pain in his ribs now only a dull flutter.

Why not? He was wandless, hopeless – it was too late.

He followed mutely after Wormtail, gliding as though in a terrible dream into the circular, torch-lit room. It did not spin, however, as it had the last time, and the door was open for them, waiting. He registered the glittering light as they walked through the room, but did not look up.

Finally, they reached the destination Harry knew they were heading for – he followed the swish of Wormtail's robes down the cold stone steps, the amphitheater seeming extra icy. Harry's nerves began jangling quietly – he could feel them even through the weak bonds of Wormtail's Imperius.

"How interesting," came a high, cold voice that made Harry's blood burn, "He doesn't even struggle. The lamb walks willingly to the lion's den."

"Not so effing willingly," Harry thought angrily.

"Bow," Wormtail commanded in his ear.

The small voice at the back of Harry's head cursed rather violently, and with an almighty force of will, he threw aside Wormtail's flimsy Imperius.

Almost immediately, he wished he hadn't. The pain in his ribs was now searing almost as badly as the Cruciatus Curse – it took all his willpower and hatred to keep himself standing, to straighten, vertebrae by agonizing vertebrae, and meet his nemesis's red slit eyes.

"Harry," Voldemort said, eyeing him appraisingly, "Harry Potter."

"Tom," Harry spat, through gritted teeth.

Lord Voldemort smiled, and then laughed a dry, acrid chuckle that made Harry's flesh crawl.

"Your anger, Harry. It both amuses and pleases me."

"Good," Harry said, jaw set, "Glad one of us is having fun."

"Oh no, Harry," Lord Voldemort said, his eyebrow-less brow lifting, as though appraising Harry, "I will say this – it has not been, as you put it, 'fun.' You have put me through hell, young man. Yes, you are at last, a man. In ancient cultures, both magical and muggle alike, the first mark of manhood is the first hunt, the first kill. I can see you have killed tonight. I can smell it on you."

His sinister smile grew, as though it was drawn on, pencil thin and painfully wide.

"How does it feel? You have already observed the irony that you are no longer so very different from myself – the irony that you have become, as prophesized, a killer, though it has not led to my downfall…not, not by half. If anything, I count the hatred, the dark magic coursing through your blood at this very moment among my greatest victories."

Harry didn't have a ready rebuttal for this. He decided to ignore as much as he could, even as the words crept icily through his core, the truth in them a burning frost.

Voldemort paused for a moment, and then brought his bony fingers over his heart, a gesture Harry found ridiculous – Voldemort had no heart.

"You are a worthy adversary, Potter. You are the first, and last I have yet to meet. I salute you."

"Really," Harry lied, eyes watering from the pain, "Well, you were a pushover. I've stamped roaches that put up a better fight. Didn't manage to take Hogwarts, did you?"

"The battle for Hogwarts was simply a diversion," Lord Voldemort dismissed, with a wave of his pale, spidery hand, "It too, will fall, once its champion is no more. I did create quite a spectacle, did I not? I thought the mangled corpse of Madame Bones was a particularly creative touch, myself, especially seeing as her body had already been discovered and buried."

This information stuck oddly in Harry's mind, for a moment, like a puzzle piece that didn't fit – hadn't Lupin won an Order of Merlin for finding Madam Bones's body?

"Those ingenious Snackboxes," Lord Voldemort purred, "It's almost a shame that it was those wretched Weasleys who invented them. Although due credit goes to the late, and equally ingenious Bartemius Crouch, Jr. It was he who first opened my eyes to the effectiveness of such a simple draught – banal, almost. But I knew that Albus, fool that he was, would not expect me to use the same old magic trick twice, now that he knew its secret. But that's precisely the beauty of it. Not only to use it twice…but again, and again. If the Imperius curse was the key to my first rise to power, this would be the key to my second coming. A random Muggle vagrant disappears and no one bats an eyelash, but a quick Imperius and Snackbox later, and the noble Madam Bones is found dead in an alley. A few stolen accoutrements from Mr. Malfoy, and Theodore Nott penetrates the walls of Hogwarts with absurd ease. Place Kingsley Shacklebolt under the Imperius, and not only can we order enough of those Snackboxes to suit our needs for years, but Wormtail here – "

He gestured nonchalantly to Pettigrew, who was still half-bowing, not daring to raise his eyes from the stone floor.

"Can masquerade as Kingsley Shacklebolt for months on end. That's not to say there is no room for human error," Voldemort added, his voice darkening, "Nott, of course, was a failure. And Wormtail here, of course –"

"They have a Secret Keeper, my Lord!" Wormtail whimpered, his voice muffled by his chest, "I couldn't tell you the address, even if I – "

"And you are telling me that after months of trying, you not only failed to learn the address of the Order's headquarters, but failed to determine who the Secret Keeper _was?"_ Voldemort hissed venomously, "Not only that, but you also fail to determine _Harry Potter's_ Secret Keeper, and the address where his mother's blood _still _lingers? You have consistently failed me in every simple task I have asked you to complete, Wormtail. Interrupt me once more, and I will kill you to spare myself the sound of your voice."

Pettigrew snivelled quietly, hunching even lower. Harry realized he probably wanted nothing more than to change back into a rat, the form he'd enjoyed for thirteen years in a row – it made him ill to think about it. His mind traveled to Lupin, lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, unable to call for help…

"So, Harry – did you enjoy the battle? I could almost feel the blood pounding through your heroic veins, itching for the fray. Tell me," Voldemort added, red eyes narrowing in delight, like a cat who'd caught a mouse, "Are you still itching for battle, young hero, now that you have tasted Death? Is it as repellant as you feared? Or worse – enjoyable?"

"I am not a Death Eater," Harry spat. He reached up to wipe spittle off his lower lip, and was alarmed to see his fingers tinged with red.

"Master," Pettigrew begged pathetically, falling to one knee, "I haven't always failed you – I have brought you Harry Potter."

"I can see that, you idiot," sighed Voldemort in utter exasperation, "_Crucio!_"

Wormtail cried out in pain as the spell hit him, then crumpled to the stone steps as he was released.

"Why," he wheedled pathetically, his voice muffled by his own body as he curled into a ball, "Why, Master…"

"Do forgive the interruption," Voldemort said, "It is so hard to find competent help, don't you find? Look how useless Longbottom turned out to be, for example."

Harry didn't reply. He knew what Voldemort was trying to do. He was trying to make him angry – trying to make him do something foolish. He took as deep a breath as his aching chest would allow…forced himself to clear his mind, make it ice cold, and dark…

"Ah," Voldemort said, Cheshire grin still in place, "Much better, Harry. You are learning."

Harry noticed for the first time that there was something in front of the archway, blocking his view of it – something tall, with a black drape thrown over it, roughly the size of a regular door…he couldn't even begin to imagine what it was, or why it was there, or what horrible torment Voldemort was planning to heap upon him…

"Even now, Harry, even when we have finally become blood brothers, alike in every way that really matters, you doubt me. Ah, but Lord Voldemort is a man of his word, Harry. Yes, if you continue to defy me, you must die. But must they? Must your bushy-haired Mudblood and impoverished redheads one-through-nine all meet the same inevitable end as Longbottom? And what about Dumbledore, your tardy, ineffectual saviour, who mucks about Hogwarts masquerading as Father Christmas? Must he die, as well?"

"You want to cut a deal," Harry said, managing to smirk weakly, "You're afraid the killing curse will rebound again. So, I kill myself, fulfilling the prophecy, and you promise to leave them alone?"

"Lord Voldemort fears nothing, not even death," Voldemort smirked, "But I have learnt caution. Oh yes," he added, with a kind of gleeful malice, "You, young man, have _taught_ me caution."

With a painful surge in his scar, Harry felt for a moment the pleasure he took in tormenting him, in watching him suffer – the deep satisfaction he gained after years of denial…

"And what's to say that you're not going to kill them all once I'm dead and can't do a thing about it?" Harry asked, his ribs a slow, constant scream of pain that made his voice sound strange and strangled in his throat, "What then?"

"Well then," Voldemort said softly, his Cheshire grin lit with a strange fervor, "I can make no guarantees. But perhaps a gesture of good faith with convince you…Perhaps I can return something I stole from you."

With a flick of his hand, the black shroud flew from the object in front of the archway that Harry had thought was a door. But it wasn't a door – it looked like the frame surrounding an enormous portrait – but it was facing the wrong way, towards the archway. Something about it looked oddly familiar, though.

"You no doubt recognize this unique and valuable artifact," Lord Voldemort was hissing, "And knowing your agile mind, you are recalling the Gringott's break-in you read about so many months ago. Not my most discrete maneuver, but fortunately one that was ignored, and forgotten in the wake of other audacities…"

Harry was racking his brains – what on earth was Voldemort talking about? And why did that frame look so bizarrely familiar? It almost called to him – just as irresistibly as the archway called to him…but he couldn't remember ever seeing a portrait in that frame…

"It was you, of course, who managed to retrieve the Sorceror's Stone all those years ago, Harry," Voldemort said, his voice growing icy, "Yes, I will admit, an interesting idea of Dumbledore's. Oh, it burned, Harry, to recycle the brainchild of a brainless child's mind…but I mastered my pride. You brought the mirror with you, I trust?"

The mirror? It took Harry a moment to piece together what Voldemort was trying to tell him. Could he mean Sirius's mirror?

"Ah," Lord Voldemort sneered, his red eyes burning triumphantly, "Realization dawns."

Harry put his hand tentatively in his back pocket – the cool glass of the mirror shifted slightly – it had been cracked, but it was intact…he withdrew it and looked into its depths. Even as he watched, felt it in his hands, there was something hypnotic about it – the same inexplicable pull that had caused him to put it in his pocket that night.

"It was no mean feat, I can promise you that," Lord Voldemort said, "To influence your mind, your dreams…Now that you were aware of the connection, I had to be patient…I could no longer barge in and take stock, no. I had to exercise stealth…so many times I was shut out, pushed away. My patience was pushed to its very limit. Similarly, I had to exercise extra caution to keep you out of my mind, as well. Carefully laid plans were boxed, shelved, put under lock and key," he said, tapping his temple with an impossibly long, tapered finger, "Caution, Harry. As I've already said, _you_ taught me caution."

"What can I," Harry stammered, "What do you expect…With…"

He trailed off, and held up Sirius's mirror, mutely.

Voldemort's grin widened evilly.

"Did you think I was lying?" he hissed, "What I promised you, all those many years ago, when you stood before this very mirror?"

He swept a pale, spidery palm down the tall, gilt frame, and with a sick feeling, Harry recognized it for what it was:

The Mirror of Erised.

"You do want him back, don't you?" he whispered, "I can bring them back. All of them. Your parents, as well."

Harry wavered, on the spot. He stood no chance of making a break for it. There was no sign of Dumbledore, or any reinforcements. They might just now be realizing he was missing – and how would they know where to find him?

He stalled for time.

"And you'll leave Ron and Hermione and –

"All you need do, Harry, is this – you don't even need to die. None of your friends need to die. I am immortal, Harry," he whispered tenderly, almost lovingly, "But Lord Voldemort remembers the pain of death – the separation…the horrible, horrible ache, the Great Divide that can not be bridged nor repaired. The Prophecy says that one of us must die. I say, to hell with Prophecy! And to hell with _Death!_ Help me, Harry – help yourself. Help all wizardkind. Together, we can defy fate, cheat death – we can obliterate it. It is your destiny…if you only have the courage."

Harry wavered. If he didn't agree, Voldemort would kill him, surely. He knew the only reason he was still alive, was because Voldemort had something to gain…and maybe…could Sirius really?…

"You have already taken a life tonight, Harry," Voldemort said, and Harry's insides were racked with painful guilt, "And another was taken tonight, before his time. Lestrange, Longbottom…We could bring them both back, Harry. If you have already _taken_ a life so recklessly, why is it such blasphemy to bring one back? Isn't that a more noble cause? Do not let your hatred for me cloud your judgement. Yes, I have dealt in death for many years, but I have also made it my life's work to _defy_ death!"

"No one is coming to save me," Harry thought wildly, his feet already carrying him hypnotically towards the archway, "No one is coming. I have no wand. I'm dead anyway. And maybe if Sirius…no, don't even think it…but maybe?…"

"A trade then," Voldemort hissed, "A balance…this is preordained…this is Prophecy, Harry…the Power that even I Know Not…yes, not even Lord Voldemort…the power of life and death. Together…together we can Heal the Divide…together we can restore the balance…"

Harry's feet continued to carry him robotically, inexorably towards the archway – towards the Mirror…

"Your decision is already made, young man," Voldemort hissed quietly, stepping slowly backwards, away from the mirror, allowing Harry full access to it, "Just look in the Mirror…it already knows your heart's desire…"

Harry stood for a moment before the mirror, the veil rippling quietly behind him. For a moment, all he saw was himself, and the veil fluttering behind him…but then, the whispers grew louder…one, in particular, came to the fore…

"_HHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRYYYYYYYY….."_

Harry's heart gave a painful jerk in his chest, and a lump rose in his throat…in the mirror, he watched as a hand slowly protruded from the veil behind him, gripping the edge of the archway for support. A hand attached to an arm, attached to a shoulder, and then the veil was parting, and it was Sirius Black standing there, smiling roguishly, looking just as he'd looked that horrible, horrible night in the Ministry but maybe that had never really happened anyway, and Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, and Harry could almost feel the warm weight there, and he thought his heart might burst from his chest.

"Hello, Harry," Sirius in the mirror said, warmly, "I've missed you."

"Sirius!" Harry cried out, and ignoring all pain, clapped his hand to his shoulder, but found nothing. He wheeled about, staring into the fluttering veil, desperately.

"Where are you!" he shouted, the pain in his ribs and arms nowhere near the pain of this separation – to be so close to Sirius, but unable to touch him, know that he was real, that this wasn't a nightmare, a fever dream – _"Sirius!"_

"_HHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAARRRRYYYYYYYYYY…"_

The sepulchral whisper from the veil behind him seemed louder. Harry turned to face it.

"Here!" Sirius called from the mirror, and Harry wheeled around yet again to face him.

"How do I know you're not just an illusion?" Harry asked, ignoring the tears that streaked down his face, "Prove it!" He smacked the heel of his hand into the cool glass. _"Prove it!"_

"_The mirror,"_ hissed a sibilant voice, as though in his ear, _"Use the mirror…there, in your right hand…"_

Harry looked down desperately, and saw the small mirror Sirius had given him – he had told Harry that it was a two-way mirror…that they could contact each other…there was already a connection forged there…

Harry could feel the powerful magics blending and rippling in the air around him, lifting his hair, prickling his skin like magnets, or static electricity…

He had pulled the stone from the mirror somehow, hadn't he? He had made his desire reality…

Why couldn't he, then? What was stopping him?…

"Harry!" Sirius said, from the mirror, and Harry looked jerkily back up to meet his eyes…eyes which were shining with love, and excitement, even though they would never lose the haunted look they had acquired though years of torment and injustice. "Harry…I missed you so much."

"I'm so sorry!" Harry choked out. Normally, he would be ashamed of his tears…but this was Sirius, Sirius who had died…who he thought he'd never see again…who he loved. He felt a surge of pain in his scar, but he ignored it. "I should never have gone – it was Voldemort, a trap, he made me think –"

"_The mirror!"_ hissed the voice impatiently, in Harry's ear, _"Use the mirror!"_

"Harry, you have nothing to be ashamed of," Sirius said warmly, putting his hand back on Harry's shoulders, squeezing gently. Harry desperately clawed at his shoulder, trying to feel Sirius's fingers there…

"I am so proud of you…we all are, your parents and I."

"My parents!" Harry gasped, "You – they – "

"Yes, Harry," Sirius smiled, his eyes red-rimmed, even though he was beaming, "We are all so very proud of you. We can't wait to see you."

"_The mirror!"_ hissed the voice angrily. Harry felt another searing throb of pain in his scar.

Harry jerkily lifted Sirius's mirror up, until it was at eye level.

"We miss you so much, Harry," Sirius began to say, in the mirror…

"_HHHAAAAAAAARRRRYYYYYY……RRRRRRRUUUUUNNNNNN…."_

"What?" Harry asked, distracted by the whisper behind him…he was too busy listening to Sirius, in the Mirror of Erised...the small mirror in his palm began to hum…there was a strange smell in the air…the veil was rustling, tickling his legs as it snaked out to caress him…He could see it, both in the Mirror of Erised, and the hand-mirror Sirius had given him…were those fingers, creeping around the edge of the archway? Or was he imagining them?

"It's time for you to come home, Harry," Sirius said, warmly, stepping backwards towards the veil, "Come home to us…"

"_RRRRRRUUUUUNNNNNNNN!"_ whispered Sirius's hoarse voice from behind him.

Harry was suddenly jolted aware, as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him – he realized with a horrible feeling that he had almost stepped backwards through the archway.

"Come home to us," Sirius in the Mirror repeated, stepping backwards into the veil. Harry watched as they were both swallowed by the veil.

"NO!" he cried, and threw Sirius's mirror to the stone floor. It shattered into a million pieces. The veil was whipping around him now, but he ran, stumbled, tripped – he fell to the stone floor, and a scream ripped from his body involuntarily, as his ribs crackled…he tasted blood on his tongue…

"So disappointing," came a high, cold voice. It was hard, and frank. It had lost all of the musicality it could possess when taunting or tempting.

Harry tried to lift his cheek from the stone floor, and could only see the swish of Voldemort's robe as he swept towards him.

"And now, of course, you die. You give up immortality, Harry Potter, the chance to refute death. You give up your godfather, whom I know you _love_ – " He spat the word like a curse. "And for what? Why? _Tell_ me! _Crucio!"_

Harry screamed, as the white-hot knives began slashing, stabbing, burning. It lasted only a second, but a second was far too long…Harry racked his brains, trying to make sense of what had just happened to him. The pain was so intense he could barely remember his own name, let alone answer whatever Voldemort had just asked him…

One memory floated powerfully, inexorably to the surface…and with it, a sense of calm…

"It was the wrong decision," Harry said, calmly.

"According to whom?" Voldemort snapped. With an angry, burning stab, Harry felt his scar light on fire, felt just a fraction of the Dark Lord's rage…

"It is up to each of us to decide what we wish to bring into this world, and what we wish to remove from it," Harry said calmly, releasing his body into the cool, stone floor…he felt oddly light-headed…his vision began to blur, but the words came from him as smoothly as though he'd known them his entire life, "A true wizard is one who governs the power that dwells within him, not one who is governed by that power."

"Foolish words from an old fool!" spat Lord Voldemort, "You disappoint."

He raised his wand.

So this was it. Oddly, Harry no longer felt afraid. Oddly enough…he felt…

Good…as though he could take a deep breath for the first time in months…if this was dying, he was ready.

"Avada – " 

"Sirius…" he thought, and the image of Sirius's shining, red-rimmed eyes came back to mind, his earnest face, his beckoning arms…his parents' proud, beaming faces…

His scar began to sear painfully – he could just barely hear Lord Voldemort's anguished cries – or were they his? Yes, they must be his – this must be dying.

Poor Ron, and Hermione…and Ginny…I'm sorry…Take care of one another…Take care…

The pain tripled in intensity, and now Harry was sure that at least some of the screaming was his…but then there was another voice…

"_TOM!"_

And Harry knew nothing else but darkness, and relief.


	61. Chapter Sixty One

Author notes are at end of chapter. It's been over a year, and I've loved every minute...thanks for journeying with me. Enjoy 

Dry. His mouth was very dry.

Slowly, other thoughts began to filter in – thoughts like, "I'm supposed to be dead," and "How long have I been out?" It seemed he had only closed his eyes for a second, but he ought to be less comfortable, ought to be in more pain –

Ah. The Hospital Wing. He was definitely lying in a bed…

He tried to open his eyes, but the light was blinding, and he squeezed them shut again. He heard voices, and the click of a door closing, but they seemed to be coming from far away. He found it odd that he wasn't in more pain – hadn't his ribs been on fire just a moment ago? He tried to wiggle his fingers, but was alarmed to find he could not. Had he been paralyzed?

Slowly though, his fingers and toes came back to tingling life, and he was able to withstand the bright light streaming in through the window.

He looked around the hospital wing, and saw that a house elf occupied the bed across from him, looking very small and out of place in the human-sized bed. He also noticed the already-dying flowers next to his bed, and the assortment of letters, and hand-made cards. And was that?...yes, Hedwig was perched on the window across the way, snoring silently in a shaft of sunlight. How long had he been out?

Madame Pomfrey was scribbling in a ledger at her workstation. Harry tried to shift into a sitting position, but the pain in his ribs was still not dissipated.

"Mnng," he grunted, and Madame Pomfrey looked up, startled.

"Goodness gracious!" she said, and without even attempting to speak to him, swept from the room.

"H-hak," Harry wheezed. He intended to ask, "How long have I been out?" but his dry throat proved particularly vicious, and induced a rather painful bout of coughing, which he tried desperately to suppress.

After a few moments, Albus Dumbledore swept in, Madame Pomfrey following in his wake.

He smiled at Harry, relief printed on his wizened features – but there was something held back, something in reserve.

"Bad news first," Harry croaked.

"Of course. But do take a glass of – "

"Bad news first," Harry repeated, though the sound of Madame Pomfrey pouring him a glass of water was music to his ears.

"Voldemort escaped," Dumbledore said, after a moment's pause.

Harry closed his eyes and sank back into the hospital bed.

For one moment – just one, he had dared to hope that it all might be over – that the Prophecy was fulfilled, and he was either dead, or had finally killed Lord Voldemort. That he would either see his parents and Sirius, or be able to live out his days with his friends, trying to gain as much obscurity as possible. It seemed utterly malicious of Fate that not only had Harry survived, but Voldemort had survived as well.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "I did my best."

Harry slowly shook his head. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault. Hadn't he said it himself? "It all comes down to me, in the end." He didn't say it out loud, because he knew Dumbledore would correct him, would tell him how brave he'd been, how strong he was, how many lesser wizards might have…he didn't want to hear it.

"I'm afraid that's not the worst of it," Dumbledore added, his head hanging heavily, "Mad-Eye Moody, Firenze, Bane, Madame Bones, and Kingsley Shacklebolt are dead, as are Louis Chauve-Souris and Topalia Nimcork…I don't believe you ever met her…a Ministry secretary, under the Imperius. A score of centaurs, and six house elves are dead. Professor McGonagall, Nymphadora Tonks, Hagrid, Emmeline Vance, Remus…er, Professor Lupin, Professor Snape, and Professor Flitwick either were treated, or are currently being treated at St. Mungo's. Grawp and his lady friend are being tended to by Madame Maxime, while Hagrid is in St. Mungo's. They will have to be relocated, unfortunately, now that the Ministry is aware of their presence, but it could have been much worse. Dobby's cousin is in critical condition, as you have probably already noticed. Fred and George are facing an inquiry from the Ministry, on charges of aiding and abetting Death Eaters…they'll be cleared, I'm sure," he added, as Harry's eyes went wide with dismay, "…and, of course…you are aware of Neville Longbottom's passing."

Harry groaned quietly, as the memory came rushing back. He noticed Dumbledore didn't mention Bellatrix Lestrange's "passing." He wondered how many other Death Eaters had finally tasted death for themselves. He also wondered whether Dumbledore knew what he had done…whether he was choking back his disgust even as they spoke.

Dumbledore sank gently onto the foot of Harry's bed, and Madame Pomfrey bustled over with a glass of water. Harry reached up to take it, and immediately regretted the ache in his chest.

"I couldn't risk doing much while you were unconscious," Madame Pomfrey said, snappishly, though Harry knew by now that that only meant she was worried, "Drink this, and the pain will dissipate."

Harry took a swallow, and he found Madame Pomfrey was correct. He was disconcerted by the red stain on the rim of the glass, however – either his lip was bleeding, or he had coughed up more blood.

"Remus?" he asked, almost fearing the answer.

"Was gravely injured, but mostly, was concerned about you. The effects of the silver will be long-lasting, unfortunately…the full damage will not be known until years from now. But he is alive, and convalescing steadily. The first of the good news," he added, with a wan smile.

Harry swallowed another gulp of water.

"And…Ron, and…"

"There were no other student casualties. Some very minor injuries…The main damage to the student body," Dumbledore sighed, "was unfortunately psychological."

"How long have I been out?" Harry asked again, eyeing the carnations decaying on his side table.

"Six days. Your friends and the Weasley family have been sick with worry…for a while, we weren't sure whether you would wake," Dumbledore said, looking extremely old and tired.

"Where are the rest of the Death Eaters?" Harry asked, "And the giants, and – "

"The giants have been incarcerated, and are awaiting trial by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures," Dumbledore sighed heavily, "And knowing their dispositions, they are unlikely to foster better relations with the giants. While it is only Karkus and his followers on trial, and not the giant race as a whole, I have a feeling they will not draw that fine distinction. As for the Dementors, they escaped Hogwarts, and appear to be laying low – perhaps searching for easier prey elsewhere, or perhaps just biding their time."

Dumbledore drew a long, breath.

"As far as we know, we have captured every Death Eater."

Harry absorbed this information with dull shock. He knew he ought to feel happy…but it was difficult to feel anything acute at the moment…the flood of information had somehow put a damper on his feelings.

"How?"

"They were either captured or killed during battle," Dumbledore said, "and the rest of us were forced by the Ministry to undergo a strict screening process, to rule out any form-changing potions, Metamorphmagi, or Imperius curses. So far, several Imperius curses have been reversed, but nothing else has turned up, to the Ministry's great delight."

Harry sensed there was a subtle disapproval in Dumbledore's expression. He met Harry's eyes, and smiled kindly.

"It is still my suspicion that, as in the last war, several Death Eaters have escaped detection, or falsely pled the Imperius curse. But I'm afraid only time, detective work, and the Wizengamot will be able to tell."

"So..." Harry said, slowly, "Lucius Malfoy?"

"Has already been executed," Dumbledore said, softly.

"What?" Harry's eyes flew open, "Already? Did he have…didn't he have a trial, or…"

He knew he ought to be pleased…one less Death Eater roaming free…but this…

"I know it's hard to understand, Harry," Dumbledore said, sadly, "But the wizarding world is angry. This is the second time they have had to live in fear of Lord Voldemort. And now, he has attacked their children, and the place where they, themselves spent their youth…And with the Dementors no longer in our control…it seems Azkaban is neither an effective deterrent, nor satisfying enough recrimination."

Harry tried to process this, but it felt as though his brain were paused.

"Peter Pettigrew?" he asked, quietly.

"Is in custody," Dumbledore replied gently, "And awaiting trial. But yes, Harry, he most likely will also be executed."

Harry felt something welling up inside him – something very frightened. He tamped it down, hastily, before Dumbledore could sense it.

"What was Voldemort trying to do? How did you stop him?"

"Tom has always been obsessed with life and death," Dumbledore said, turning further in order to face Harry, and lacing his fingers in his lap, "It seems he developed an idea based on one of my own…an idea, which, in retrospect, may not have been such a good one," he added, sadly.

Harry felt like there were other things he ought to be asking, and saying – he still didn't know where everyone was. He wished Ron, Hermione, and Ginny could be here…but he had to know, first.

"It seems Voldemort had finally thought of a way to breach the gulf between life and death – and wanted to conduct an experiment of sorts – an experiment in dark magic, with you as his guinea pig. If the experiment failed, you would be drawn into the veil, and the prophecy would be fulfilled. If the experiment succeeded, Voldemort would have called upon an army of the dead, and may have defeated us all regardless. In the meanwhile, he launched an attack on Hogwarts that would accomplish four of his aims: to weaken the Light's last stronghold, to capture you, your Secret Keeper, and provide a distraction while he infiltrated the Ministry and attempted to summon the dead. Even if he only accomplished one of his goals, it would be enough to seriously damage our cause."

Harry's head was reeling. It was by far the most complicated plan of Lord Voldemort's he'd ever had to deal with. Dumbledore nodded, as though reading his mind.

"Yes, Harry. With an army to support him, and his fiercest generals at his side, Voldemort finally ceased his covert, terrorist operations and launched a fully-fledged, multi-faceted war on the Light. One I do not believe we have seen the end of."

Harry wondered weakly what The Light was, but was too exhausted, and hurting too much to bother with it. But even moreso, there was something urgent, bubbling hot and anxious inside of him…

"Bellatrix," Harry blurted, suddenly, "I killed her. With the Killing Curse."

There was a long silence, as Dumbledore sat with his long fingers folded, staring at the floor.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Are they going to execute me?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling not very grown-up at all.

"No," Dumbledore said quietly, "No one saw. No one knows for sure how she –"

"I do. I know for sure. I killed her."

Dumbledore said nothing to meet his challenge, not even look at him.

"I have to turn myself in."

"That would be unwise," Dumbledore said, gently. Harry wished Dumbledore would look at him, so he could see the shame in his eyes, feel adequately punished…

"It's an Unforgiveable Curse," Harry insisted, doggedly, the hot, guilty panic trying to leap from his chest.

Dumbledore put his wrinkled hand over Harry's, his skin soft with age. Harry finally met his blue eyes, which were shining softly.

"I forgive you," Dumbledore said, simply.

Harry had to look away quickly, not daring to take another breath. He held it tight, even though it made his ribs ache, keeping the tears in check as they threatened to spill over.

"There's more," he managed, quietly.

"You can tell me anything, Harry," Dumbledore promised, softly. The patience in his voice was maddening – all the sore places in his chest began to ache even more than the actual sore places in his ribcage. He wished, wildly, that Dumbledore would yell at him.

"Sirius – I…Did I really see…"

"You saw Sirius in the Mirror of Erised, Harry," Dumbledore said simply, "Whatever that means to you."

"So it wasn't really Sirius?" Harry asked, quietly, "Saying that he was proud of me…and that he was with my parents…That's only what I wanted to see?"

"I didn't say that," Dumbledore said, patiently.

"Or was it the Sirius whispering to me, in the Veil? Was that the real Sirius?"

"What is real, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, wrinkling his nose as though confronted with a particularly difficult question.

"Come off it!" Harry snapped, "Real is real. Like…" He gripped the blanket, and shook it slightly, "Real. Like this blanket is real."

"Hmm. So this is real, then?" Dumbledore said, quietly stroking the bedspread, "The things we can see, and touch? I have always felt, Harry, that what is _most_ real is that which touches us."

"Look," Harry persisted, "Was it Sirius, or not? Is he…is he that horrible, whisper thing, or…"

"Harry, I can't tell you that," Dumbledore said gently, "because I simply don't know. It is confusing and dark magic…that is why the Veil is in the Department of Mysteries…and this is why wizardkind is not meant to tamper in Life and Death."

Harry swallowed hard, and sank back onto his pillows.

"So it was all a lie."

"I didn't say that either," Dumbledore said, just as patiently.

"If it wasn't true, it was a lie!" Harry shouted, not caring if he was rude. He was tired of this – tired of hard answers and half-truths.

"I'm afraid you'll find that very little in this world is black and white, Harry," Dumbledore said sadly, "And no one sees the same thing in any given reflection. The divide between the truth and lies is one we all must bridge for ourselves at one point."

"Well, how do I know what's true and what's not?" Harry scowled, impatiently.

"Perhaps you ought to think of the Sirius you saw not as divided between truth and a lie, but between a memory and a dream."

Harry could barely take in Dumbledore's words. Dumbledore didn't understand…why it was so important…why he needed to know…

"In the Mirror," Harry choked, quietly, "I saw – Sirius take me…into the veil."

Dumbledore remained silent. Harry again had the sensation that he was avoiding the subject, waiting for Harry to draw his own conclusions, not daring to say the wrong thing and push him away…

"And when Kings – Pettigrew took me…I just…I let him. And I let him put the Imperius on me. And during the battle…there were plenty of times I could have just hid, and waited…but I didn't…"

Dumbledore said nothing, but looked up and examined the ceiling.

"Does that mean…" Harry asked, roughly brushing away tears, "Does that mean that my deepest Desire…is…is to…"

He left his conclusion unsaid, hanging heavily in the air.

"I will say only this, Harry," Dumbledore said, after a pregnant pause, "Did you see the same thing in the Mirror this time as you did in your first year?"

"No," Harry said, "Of course not."

"Then," Dumbledore said lightly, "Your desire can always change, Harry. Voldemort attacked the school a day early – once he knew his fate, he was able to change it. If he was able to, Harry, perhaps you too, can script your own destiny, despite the Prophecies, or perhaps in conjunction with them. Hope, Harry. Even in the darkest of hours, you can always rely on the Hope that things can change. In fact, I'd say that is your primary responsibility – to live, and to hope."

Harry felt that if the Headmaster had told him this in his first year, it would have sounded like a very easy job indeed. Now, he wondered whether he could actually manage it.

"I think I will let you get some rest," Dumbledore said, standing slowly. Harry heard a subtle crick in his knee, "And inform your friends that you have regained consciousness…they will visit shortly. That is, if it is alright with you?"

Harry nodded mutely. The Professor nodded, and was about to walk off, when Harry spoke again.

"Professor? One last thing…What is the Great Divide?"

Dumbledore paused with his back to Harry. For a long time, he neither moved nor spoke.

"Another time, perhaps, Harry."

"No. Please, sir," Harry said, forcing himself to sit up, his pain now ignorable, "If you know something…please, I want to know now."

Harry could not see the Headmaster's face, but there was something defeated in his posture. After what seemed like an age, he turned slowly to face him again.

"What if I told you, Harry," he began hesitantly, "That some believe that all the magic in the world was broken in half, a long, long time ago?"

Harry frowned. "How can magic be – "

"You have seen it for yourself, Harry. Whether it be the argument between the founders, and their current houses, the Purebloods and Muggleborns, humankind and magical creatures…Or on a more abstract plane, the divide between Life and Death, or Truth and Lies."

"Alright," Harry nodded, "So…they're all connected somehow…and that's the Great Divide?"

"Yes, in brief," Dumbledore nodded.

"Oh. Alright."

But Harry sensed that there was more...something the Headmaster was still withholding.

"There's more, isn't there?"

Dumbledore couldn't meet his eye.

"What if I told you, Harry…" he began slowly, "That in the Department of Mysteries…lost now, to the ages…was another Prophecy, in addition to the two you became aware of this past year?"

Harry scowled, his blood beginning to boil.

"I'd probably ask just how many prophecies there _are_ about me! And when was anyone going to tell me about this?" Harry snapped, "I thought that after last year, you promised to tell me – "

"Please believe me, Harry," Dumbledore said, earnestly, and Harry felt guilty at the pleading sincerity in his blue eyes, "I would have told you about this Prophecy – but no one knew it might be referring to you. There was nothing in the Prophecy that mentioned you specifically – no clues, such as the date of your birth. It is such an ancient Prophecy, that very few wizards these days give it any thought at all."

"Well," Harry said wearily, "What does it say?"

"Essentially," Dumbledore said, wearily, "That one day will come a wizard with the power to heal the Great Divide, and restore balance to the magical world."

A ringing silence met these words.

"Ah," Harry said, his voice sounding funny, "Well. If that's all…and you think…You think that I?..."

Dumbledore shook his snowy-white head.

"I don't lay claim to any theories, Harry. I do not know what to believe about this. Many wizards feel that the Prophecy will never be fulfilled…or that it will only be fulfilled at the end of time. I simply don't know."

Harry thought about this for a moment.

"Voldemort…he said…he said that together we could Heal the Divide…so he thinks it's me…or the two of us together…"

"I draw no conclusions," Dumbledore replied delicately, "I simply observe. And I observe that fracture and division have been a part of this magical world as long as any of us can remember, as sure as Prospero broke his staff."

Harry couldn't remember who Prospero was…he thought maybe he'd seen him on a Famous Witch or Wizard card…it was too much…too much information. It couldn't be real. Not on top of everything else that had happened…He felt, fully now, how exhausted he still was, even after days of being asleep…or unconscious, he didn't know which.

"And I see that wherever you go, you bring people together…where Voldemort divides, you unite, Harry. It is possible, though not necessarily true, that you are the one the Prophecy refers to. But I hope not," Dumbledore added, swiftly, and Harry noticed that his eyes were shining sadly behind his spectacles, "I may have said this before, Harry…but I rather feel you've got enough to be getting on with."

Harry slept through the night, but woke in the morning to find Hermione and Ginny asleep in the hospital bed next to him, and Ron, snoring loudly in a chair nearby. For a while, he debated waking them, but wasn't sure what to say. Finally, Ron snored so loudly he woke himself up with a jolt, blinking blearily around him. Harry grinned, in spite of himself.

"Morning," he said, quietly.

"Mm?" Ron muttered blearily. His eyes settled on Harry, and his face lit up.

"Hey," he said, quietly, "We made it."

Harry's face darkened – he remembered, with disgust, the secret thrill of relief he'd felt, when Ron's form had dissolved, slowly, turning into Neville…

_Thank God it's not Ron._

He hated himself.

"Sorr – err…I'm just glad you're alright," Ron stammered, quietly.

Harry nodded. "I'm glad you are, too. How are they?"

"Worried about you," Ron confessed, his gaze falling on Ginny and Hermione. He ruffled his hair, and stifled a yawn, "We all have been. I dunno if the school's ever going to be the same. It's like everyone's walking around in a bad dream."

"Harry!"

Any further discussion was stifled as Ginny and Hermione struggled to clamber over one another in their haste to get to him, still fighting to wake themselves up. Harry grinned again.

"I was so afraid," Ginny confessed, hugging him gingerly. Harry patted her back gently, trying to ignore the pressure on his chest.

"We all were," Hermione said, rocking back and forth, waiting for her turn anxiously, "We didn't know if…we thought maybe…"

"We thought maybe it was the end," Ron finished quietly.

Harry reached out a hand, which Hermione wrung, with a watery smile.

Harry spent most of March in his hospital bed, at Madame Pomfrey's insistence. It was another week before he stopped coughing blood. Madame Pomfrey was loathe to repair him too hastily…if certain parts healed before others, they could do serious damage, and prevent him from healing himself. Dean, Seamus, Lavender, and the other Gryffindors all came to visit in turn, and to thank him, which Harry found exceedingly awkward. The Quidditch team came, and tried to distract him with woeful tales of their practices without him. The entire Weasley clan visited as well, Mrs. Weasley alternately crying and hugging him and trying to force him to eat, while the Weasley men grinned and cracked jokes. But as usual, Harry was happiest when Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would sit with him, and study, or talk about nothing, or just sleep.

The hospital wing quickly grew dull, but Harry didn't wish for a moment that he could leave its confines, for the only times he got to leave its walls were to attend funerals.

First came Mad-Eye's, which Harry was barely conscious for…he was so deep in a funk, that all he could do was stand up and sit down at the appropriate times, Hermione or Ginny squeezing his hand to jolt him aware again. Then came Madame Bones – a large Ministry affair – and then Kingsley Shacklebolt's…soon, they all blended together.

He was surprised, however, when Neville's Gran came to visit him in the hospital wing.

"We'd like you to say something next week, if you don't mind," she said, briskly.

"Me?" Harry had asked, with a sinking feeling, "Are you sure that I'm…that I'm the right person to…"

He wanted to tell her it was his fault, and he was sorry – that he had asked Neville to be his Secret Keeper – that she had lost her every descendent to Voldemort, and that the worst of it, was Voldemort had gone through them all to get to him and his parents…

"Of course," she said, just as briskly, "You were his best friend, weren't you? He talked about you all the time."

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Sure."

When the time came to speak, Harry could barely find his voice. He spoke for a while about how quiet, and constant Neville was – how he'd never done anybody a wrong in all the time he'd known him, and how hard he worked, and how brave he'd been. He felt, afterwards, that he hadn't done a good job – that he'd only been capturing bits and pieces of Neville…like taking photographs of his shoes, or his nose, and expecting people to understand the whole picture. But everyone told him afterwards it had been a lovely speech, and he'd done a very nice job, so he sat in the corner with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, in the dark, musty funeral home, and ate macaroni salad like everyone else.

"It's such a shame," Ginny said, in the sotto-voce "funeral voice" they'd all become accustomed to using, "His parents aren't even here."

"They'd just be confused," Hermione said, her voice sounding thick with suppressed tears, "And they'd probably upset everyone else…It's better this way."

"Luna looks awful," Ron said, quietly.

"Ron!"

"Well, look," he said, miserably.

Harry had been half-afraid of what Luna would say or do – she'd been avoiding them ever since the night of the attack. He thought she might turn up wearing blue polka dots and a turnip, or singing something cheerful…but surprisingly, she wore plain black robes, and sat quietly with her hands folded, her vague smile only half-pasted on. It was disconcerting.

Harry was excused from exams, and he had a feeling Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were too, if they wanted to be…Hermione was planning on taking them anyway, of course – but he noticed she didn't approach her studies with the same fervor as usual, and Ron had abandoned everything but Potions and Herbology, both of which he was determined to succeed in. Harry didn't ask, but he suspected it was some strange, private tribute to Neville.

Some days Harry went to class…some days he walked around the lake, or went to the Quidditch pitch, flying his broom in lazy circles, letting his mind go blank. Other days he visited Professor Lupin, or Hagrid, when he finally returned from St. Mungo's. One day, Harry found himself chatting with Hagrid over a cup of tea about nothing in particular, and suddenly couldn't stop crying. Hagrid had refilled his mug twice without saying a word, and he never commented on the incident or asked about it later. Quidditch was abysmal. Harry tried to play in their final match against Slytherin, but he could scarcely keep his mind on flying, let alone finding the Snitch. Even Malfoy seemed to be in a similar state of shellshock – after three hours of aimless flying, Madame Hooch summoned the Snitch, calling the game with Slytherin leading seventy to ten. There were a few half-hearted cheers from the Slytherin stands, but most of the school was just relieved that the game had concluded without incident.

One late May afternoon, Harry was seated at the edge of the lake, watching the Giant Squid flap its tentacles lazily in the sunlight, while other student swam, or took the Hogwarts rowboats out. He watched Ginny walk up from the castle, clearly distinguishable by her Weasley hair, until she reached his side and sat next to him. For a while she didn't say anything, as they watched the Squid seize Colin Creevey's oar, and chuck it to the other side of the lake.

"I was just wondering," she said at last, "If we're…anything."

Harry sighed hesitantly.

"I don't know…It's not you," he added hastily, "Just, since everything's happened, I haven't really felt…"

"I know," Ginny said quietly, "Me neither."

Hermione's words from the Astronomy tower came to mind. Hermione was usually right about things like this, wasn't she?

"Let's just see what happens," Harry said, not taking his eyes off the lake.

Ginny nodded, wordlessly. After a while, she tentatively let her shoulder touch his, and when he didn't pull away, she put her head on his shoulder, and he leaned back into her for a while. Finally, he stood, helped her to her feet, and walked her back to the castle.

Another day, when Quidditch practice was rained out (also precluding a walk around the lake), and Harry didn't feel like going to class, he found himself lying on his bed with Sirius's stack of letters in front of him.

He opened the other packet first – it was mostly boring legal things…he found the Deed to Grimmauld Place inside, along with various birth certificates and pedigrees of the Black family, the deed to Sirius's Motorbike, and several receipts from an auto shop where he'd had work done on it. By far more interesting were new pictures – a surly, teenage Sirius, forced to wear dress robes for a photo with a boy Harry could only assume was his younger brother, Regulus. There were new ones of his parents, as well, and Remus, that Harry spent hours staring at, watching them wave cheerfully and silently up at him, some in black and white, others in grainy, faded color. He even found one particularly old one of Sirius in his Hogwarts uniform, that looked like a graduation photo.

Finally, Harry only had the sealed envelope in front of him, his name written in Sirius's scrawling penmanship.

He slid his thumb under the edge, broke the seal, and slowly removed the parchment inside:

_Dear Harry._

Harry felt a small thrill at seeing Sirius's handwriting…for a moment it was almost like hearing him speak again. Harry closed his eyes and smelled the parchment – it didn't smell like Sirius, exactly, but it did smell of Grimmauld place…dust, bundimuns, and stale Firewhiskey. He opened his eyes, and continued to read:

_Dear Harry,_

_If you're reading this, it means that I'm dead, and I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. _

_I know this probably comes as a shock – the first time, nobody thought that any of us could go…we all had escaped danger so many times at Hogwarts – made us right cocky. No one ever likes to think that things like this can happen, especially not when you're young. So I thought I ought to put some of this down on parchment for you, just in case. _

_I know you're upset. And I can also guess that you're not too likely to tell anyone about it…but that could just be wishful thinking on my part. Perhaps some selfish part of me is hoping that you'll miss me as much as I'll miss you...But in all seriousness, I really don't want you to be too sad over me, Harry. You've lost a lot of people in your life, and I know too well that it doesn't get easier…in fact, it gets worse. I don't want to be something that makes you unhappy. You've had enough of that. _

_I don't want you to feel guilty, either. I can't imagine any rightful way this would be your fault, except that you tend to take responsibility for everything. Your father and I took responsibility for so little in our lives, it baffled us how Remus survived carrying all that around in his head. I hardly knew the definition of the word until you were born. But I know I felt guilty about your parents for the longest time after they died, and I still do to some extent. So it's no great stretch of the imagination to guess that you'll feel guilty over me. I think it's normal to feel that there's things you ought to have said, or done. That's part of why I'm writing this to you – so neither of us has to feel guilty for leaving anything unsaid._

_When my parents died, I was more angry than sad…I keep thinking of what I'd want Prongs to say to me, if he could send me a letter, and I think I'd just want him and your mum to tell me that they're alright, and that I should go ahead and live my life. _

_Of course, if you're reading this, I don't really know what's happened to me, or where I am…so I won't say the words when it's not really going to be any comfort to you. I can promise, though, that if there's a way for me to check up on you, or to let you know I'm alright, I'll find it. And if there's any justice, I'll be with your parents, which would make me really happy, Harry, honestly. _

_When I was in Azkaban, the only thing that kept me alive was knowing that I was innocent, and that Pettigrew was out there. I had only myself and my worst memories for the longest time. The reason I tell you this, is that getting out of Azkaban gave me my freedom, but it didn't give me my life back. It took meeting you to feel alive again, and I want to thank you for that. If I had to go through all those years in Azkaban in order to meet you, then I would have done it twice over. _

_But, shortly after I'd found you, I knew the fight against Voldemort had to start again. I knew it would be just as brutal and just as unfair as the first one, which I suppose you're finding out for yourself. I also knew I couldn't stay away (though Dumbledore did his best to keep me out of it). Since you are actually reading this, my best guess is that some Dark Wizard and I crossed paths while I was on a mission for the Order. I can't really imagine any other way I'd go. Not really the "old age" sort, am I? So, if it's any comfort, this is the way I'd have chosen for myself. (Hope I got him.)_

_I also want to apologize for a few things…I'm sorry I couldn't save your Mum and Dad – I tried, I honestly did. I really thought that switching Secret Keepers would save them…I often wished you could have gotten them back when you were thirteen, instead of me. And, while we're on the subject…I know you caught us in a bit of an unflattering moment during your Occlumency practice last year…please believe me when I say James was a good person, one of the best I've ever met._

_I'm also sorry that I couldn't be with you more – I was either in Azkaban, or on the run. And I know there were a few times I might not have seemed it, but the time I got to spend with you here at Grimmauld Place really did make me happy – I'm sorry if I didn't always act like it. It this place that I hate, Harry, not spending time with you. _

_In case you ever wonder, I'll never regret joining the Order. I wish I could watch you grow up, of course, but I know you'll turn out right, because I knew Lily and James, and I know Remus, and Albus, and Arthur and Molly. _

_And I also know you, Harry. Even with all of the people I see in you, you are your own person. Your own man. I know I'm not your "real" father, but I'm as proud of you as any "real" son a father could have. _

_A few words about Voldemort – You've already done more than your share. And I'm telling you that you don't have to do a damn thing more if you don't want to. If you want to go put your head in the sand somewhere and settle down and stay out of it, and hang the rest of the world, nobody would think worse of you, least of all me. _

_I also know you'll never do that. So here's my advice:_

_When you don't know what to do, think of what your father and I would do, and then think of what Remus and your mother would do, and settle for something in between. That formula kept James and I from getting expelled more than once, and we still got to have plenty of fun. _

_You can trust Remus, Dumbledore, Molly, and Arthur with your life. They're mad about you, and they'd never steer you wrong. (Do bear in mind, though, that Molly tends to err on the side of safety. I feel fairly confident that you and I share the predisposition for the opposite.) _

_Your Dad once said that all of us were like "old shoes." Ron and Hermione are your old shoes, Harry. It seems you're not getting along so well with each other this year…just don't leave anything unsaid, and keep them close, even after Hogwarts._

_Finally, don't let anyone tell you who you are. They told me for twelve years I was a murderer, and there were times when I almost believed them. But as long as you know who you are, as long as you know the truth, it doesn't matter what anyone else says. The truth isn't necessarily happy, but it's what keeps you sane._

_As long as you remember who you are, and make your own decisions, I know that you'll be fine. I'm really very proud of you, Harry. And it's not really goodbye – I'll always be there to help you when you need me, just the way Prongs was there for you. I'll find a way. _

_So be happy, and go get 'im. _

_I love you. _

_Sirius_

Harry let out a long, slow breath, before he noticed the arrow at the bottom of the page. He flipped it over, not sure whether he was ready to see what was written there or not.

_(PS – Don't worry about sorting everything out – I'll let Remus take care of it. Basically, if you want anything, just take it. Just please don't get rid of Mum, or Kreacher. I know they're both insufferable, but Kreacher knows too much, and besides…just don't get rid of them. You'll know what I mean someday, having lived with the Dursleys. _

_(PPS – One more thing – I thought of something that might make you feel a little bit better…tell Remus that August 31st is your property – I'm giving it to you. He'll know what to do.)_

_(PPS – Sorry, one last thing – I hate to ask you for anything when you've already got so much on your mind, but you have to try and take care of Remus for me, especially now. Just try and spend some more time with him – If I'm first, that means he's the last of us, and he needs you.)_

So it was that Harry found himself standing in Lupin's office a few days later.

"I think I've got everything prepared," Remus said, frowning into Dumbledore's Pensieve, and prodding the silvery-white stuff inside with his wand. The light made his scars look strange, and made the finger-shaped burns on his neck stand out even more nastily, but Harry couldn't help but smile – he had the same slightly anxious look that Hermione had when she was working on something important.

"That looks about right," he said, finally, "Just let me know if it's not clear enough, or if you end up in a related memory."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Harry said, stepping forward, "I just don't get why Sirius would give me my birthday – How is that supposed to cheer me up? What does that even mean?"

Lupin smiled.

"Just take a look."

Harry walked over, and place a hand on either side of the Pensieve. Staring into the swirling silver, he began to make out shapes – there was a room…it looked very plain…sort of ugly, to be honest. He slowly lowered his head until his nose just barely touched the surface…When he felt the tumbling sensation, he squeezed his eyes shut, opening them when he once again felt right-side up…

Harry opened his eyes to see that he was in one of the waiting room or a lobby of sorts…There were a few couches, and several scattered chairs in the corner, along with an ugly potted plant, and a coffee table laden with battered, well-worn magazines. Harry thought he recognized Witch Weekly, and several issues of the Daily Prophet. To his left was a receptionist desk, manned by a forbidding, bespectacled blonde witch, whose pink lipstick was feathering into the wrinkles around her mouth. Two swinging double doors across the room from him burst open, and he recognized the lurid green robes of St. Mungo's on the two Healers dashing by. A dark-haired young man seated in the corner looked up abruptly, his face ruggedly handsome, but drawn with worry.

Sirius let out a loud, disappointed sigh, stretched his legs, and crossed them the opposite way, dejectedly tossing a battered copy of Witch Weekly onto the nearby table. Suddenly, the door behind Harry banged open, and in rushed Remus Lupin, looking seven shades of sickly, with one arm in and one arm out of his work robes. The large, shaggy sideburns obscuring his slightly pointed ears also tended not to compliment his disheveled appearance.

"Just got – work," he gasped, panting, "How long?"

"Three hours, now," Sirius said calmly, but Harry could tell from the jerky way he pushed some magazines off the adjacent seat for Remus that he was nervous about something. Or someone, more like.

"How's James holding up?" Remus asked, taking off his work robes and setting his battered briefcase down.

Harry frowned – why was his father in St. Mungo's?

"A wreck. Naturally," Sirius said, "They wouldn't let me in. But I stood outside the door for a while. I had to get out of there, though."

"That bad?" Remus asked, blanching slightly.

"In my long and sordid pranking career," Sirius said, leaning the chair back on two legs, "I have heard plenty of women screaming..."

"Or perhaps in your other sordid career," Remus muttered under his breath.

"…but I have _never_ heard anything like that," Sirius said, bouncing his knees slightly.

Remus wiped his brow, and looked over at the door pensively. "Lily…I should be there."

"Don't even bother," Sirius growled, eyeing the nurse at the reception desk grumpily, "They shooed me out of there as soon as it was time to push. And now that I've come out here, they won't let me back in."

Suddenly, something clicked into place in Harry's mind, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Birthday – his birthday! But not just any birthday, his _real_ birthday…

Sirius had asked Remus to share his memory of Harry's birth…That was his gift, and Remus's…His last gift…

Remus sighed deeply. "Well, I'm sure they'd tell us if there was anything wrong."

"Hmph."

Sirius seemed to be growling inaudibly, and he fidgeted in his chair again, unable to find a comfortable place for his lanky legs.

"Oh – Peter told me to say 'Hello,' and says he'll be along around six o'clock," Remus said conversationally. Harry could tell he was trying to distract Sirius. "Couldn't get out of work. Been showing up late recently – he's afraid he'll be sacked."

"Good old Wormtail," said Sirius, craning his neck to try and glance through the windowed door.

They sat in silence for a quite a long while. Harry, invisible to them both, decided to go sit next to them. He took the opportunity to study their faces – Remus, still scarred but quite a bit younger. He noticed the circles under his eyes were still quite dark – it must have been nearing the full moon. Sirius chewed on his lower lip casually, and continued to rock forward and back on two legs of his chair.

The door swung open suddenly, and the two men anxiously sat up in their seats, and craned their necks around for a look. A slightly pudgy blonde woman was wheeled through the door in a wheelchair, holding a small bundle in her arms – she was pushed by a brown-haired man with a sweet, shy smile that Harry seemed to recognize.

"Remus! Sirius!" the woman said, her blue eyes wide in surprise, "What are you doing here? Is it Lily?"

"Yes, actually," Remus said politely, standing and crossing over to chat, as Sirius slumped disappointedly back in his chair, "Just a little while ago. But I hadn't heard the good news! Congratulations Alice."

"Oh, thank you!" she said, gently shifting the baby in her arms, "Just a few days ago, myself. Isn't it funny how that happens? Always in threes. First Molly, a few months ago…"

Sirius "mmphed" ironically.

"And last year…and the year before that…"

Alice blushed, and gazed lovingly at her new arrival, "Yes, well. Our turn, now…We've only told close family, though…there were a few minor complications, so we wanted to wait…but they're sending us home, so I imagine we'll be owling everyone to let them know."

"Boy or girl?" Remus asked, clearly trying to take interest and not look too anxious about Lily and James.

"Boy. Neville," Alice said, beaming.

"After my father," Frank said in a quiet, gentle voice.

"You must be over the moon." Lupin said, smiling approvingly, "Lily will be so pleased to hear it."

"Yes!" Alice said laughing pleasantly, "Hopefully they'll get to be friends. We'll have to set up a few play dates. Though…Oh…"

She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "They are planning to go into hiding, aren't they?"

Remus shifted uncomfortably. Harry could see that it was the truth from Lupin's expression.

"I'm not really sure…" he stammered.

"We should get going, sweetheart," Frank said quietly, "Your mother is waiting."

"I won't keep you," Remus said, bending down to kiss Alice on the cheek, and clapping Frank on the shoulder, "And congratulations again."

"Thank you! And to you, too! Give my love to Lily. Bye, Sirius," she added politely, waving to the figure who was now reading the same copy of Witch Weekly again.

"Take care," Sirius said, not taking his eyes from the magazine.

"He's a bit preoccupied," Remus muttered apologetically.

Frank wheeled Alice and Neville out of the room, and Remus returned to sit next to Sirius.

"That was rude of you, you know."

"I'm a bit preoccupied, Moony," Sirius quoted sarcastically.

"Yes, I know," Remus added dryly, "You just keep enjoying Witch Weekly, I promise not to distract you."

"Hmph."

They sat quietly for a while, and then another while, Sirius finally flinging aside the magazine, and rubbing his eyes wearily. Harry's neck was just starting to bother him from leaning into the Pensieve, when his father burst through the double doors, clad in a green Healer uniform.

"Boy!" he shouted crazily, his amber eyes nearly as wild as his black hair, "It's a boy!"

"Boy!" Sirius yelled, leaping to his feet.

"Lily?" Remus asked, tentatively.

"Perfect! Beautiful!" James bellowed, tears and sweat sparkling all over his face, "I'm a father! Me, a _father!"_ he emphasized for the receptionist, who smiled disinterestedly, and returned to her work.

"_Cigars!_" roared Sirius, taking out his wand and waving it at the receptionist's desk, "_Tobaccio!_"

Various pens and pencils went zipping through the air, to the receptionist's startled squeak, transforming themselves to cigars mid-flight. Sirius had been a bit overzealous, however, and hadn't really made plans for catching them. Most of them bounced off of their heads and torsos. Harry noticed his father instinctively snatch one out of the air, and smiled.

"Mr. Potter, this is a _hospital_!" the receptionist said sniffily, "And you and your _visitors _are absolutely not permitted to smoke!"

"Oh, boil your head!" Sirius hollered joyfully, "I'm an uncle! Moony, we're uncles!"

"No!" James said, clapping one hand on Sirius's shoulder, "You're a godfather."

"And Lily's alright?" Remus asked cautiously, but he was already smiling.

James face suddenly fell.

"Good god, I have a mother!" he said, smacking a hand to his forehead, "Err, wife! I have to go…"

"We'll come with you!"

"Mr. Potter," piped up the receptionist, "I have to remind your _visitors_ that—"

"OH, _pipe down_, I said!" Sirius growled, and the receptionist seemed intimidated into obedience.

Harry found himself being pulled behind them, as they burst through the double-doors. They walked down a few feet, and entered another brightly-lit room, where he found his mother laying back on her hospital bed, sweaty and pale, holding him in her arms. Harry felt slightly squeamish as he glanced about the room – Healers were snapping their gloves off their hands backwards, and tossing them into bins. There was quite a bit more blood than he'd expected on their green robes, and a female Healer was matter-of-factly tidying up some intimidating silver instruments, while another was throwing some soiled blankets into a plastic bag.

"James Potter," said a gentle voice, and Harry snapped his attention back to his mother's face, "Meet your son."

His mother was beaming, and despite the fact that strands of her red hair were sticking to her face, and despite the fact that she looked utterly exhausted, her green eyes were shining softly, and Harry thought he'd never seen her look more beautiful in any of his pictures. His father carefully took the bundle from her arms, and held it reverently…

"Me," Harry thought, and felt his heart leap and catch in his throat, "That's me there…"

"He's perfect," James breathed, his eyes sparkling.

"Ten fingers, ten toes, and messy black hair," Lily said, leaning back onto the pillows with a weary smile. Remus unobtrusively crossed to the other side of the bed, and set about pouring her some ice water.

Sirius eagerly half-extended his hands.

"Can…may I?"

Harry was shocked – it was as though they were transformed. None of their usual swagger or bravado remained. Sirius in particular looked absolutely floored. He stood hesitantly stretching his arms out to take the tiny bundle from James, as though half-fearing he would refuse.

James delicately passed the bundle into Sirius's arms.

"Mind his head," Lily said, with a warm smile.

Sirius wrapped one arm underneath Harry, and put the other over him, protectively, gazing down into his face. He began to laugh, at first quietly, then uncontrollably.

"He's incredible!" he laughed, awestruck, "He looks just like you!"

"I should hope so," Lily said, gazing lovingly up at James. Remus handed her a glass of water. While Sirius and James laughed and watched Harry do a whole lot of nothing, Lily put a hand on his arm.

"Thank you, Remus," she said quietly, "I knew James would ask Sirius, but I wanted to let you know how grateful I am to you…I think of you as Harry's godfather as well."

Remus blushed, "That's alright, Lily."

"I mean it," she said, after taking a sip of water.

"I know," Remus said, pushing the hair out of her face with a tender smile, his eyes shining.

"Sirius," Lily said quietly, turning her head, "Let Remus have a turn."

"Oh, that's alright," said Remus, suddenly looking very afraid.

"Don't be ridiculous!" James said, giving Sirius a little push.

Harry watched as Sirius gently passed the small white bundle into Remus's arms.

"That's alright," he stammered anxiously glancing at Lily and James, "I don't know if I ought—"

But there he was, holding an infant Harry in his arms. He looked nearly panic-stricken, as though he were afraid he might break him. Sirius laughed.

"It's a baby, Moony, not a bomb."

"You won't hurt him," James said, his eyes shining affectionately.

Remus seemed to relax his frame slightly, and brought the bundle of blankets closer to his chest.

"Hello," he said, nearly in a whisper, his eyes welling up, "Hello."

Harry heard himself whimper slightly, and saw a tiny fist waving…

"He likes you," Lily said smiling, while James clutched her hand and pulled himself up a chair to sit next to her.

"He has your eyes, Lily," Remus choked happily, a tear running down his face.

"Alright, alright, a little less moist there," Sirius teased.

Laughing abruptly, Remus handed Harry back to his mother and father.

"So _Dad_," Sirius said joyfully, "What's his name?"

"Harry," James said, without hesitation, "Harry James Potter."

"Perfect," Lily said, smiling gently. She gave James a squelchy-sounding kiss.

"I'm a godfather!" Sirius bellowed joyfully, flinging his arms wide, and Harry heard himself let out an indignant squall in response. The three of them laughed, as Sirius's delight instantly became a mask of concern.

All too soon, Harry felt as though he were being pulled gently backwards. The scene before him seemed to stretch farther and farther, until all he saw was swirling white mist, and then he was back in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where he found a much grayer Remus Lupin waiting for him, an identical tear rolling down his scarred, smiling face.

"Visiting hours are almost over," the head Healer said, arching a suspicious eyebrow, "Why don't you run along?"

The last day of the Hogwarts term found one of its students not preparing for the Leaving Feast, as most were, but rather, standing at the entrance to the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's.

"I know they are," said the pudgy, blonde-haired boy, "I'll only be a minute."

The nurse gave him a look that was almost pitying, then shook her head as though he was crazy.

"It's your life. I guess."

"Thanks," the boy said, awkwardly.

He walked over to the low, rounded crafts table, where Alice Longbottom was doing a crayon drawing. Frank Longbottom lay rigid and unmoving in his nearby bed, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

"That's veeeery good, Alice!" one of the Healers beamed, helping to hold the paper steady.

"Art therapy, today?" the blonde boy asked, shyly.

The Healer's patient, indulgent smile melted into a scowl as she looked up at him, but Alice Longbottom simply glanced at him, smiled vaguely, and returned to drawing a house. The blonde boy winced at her childlike scrawl, at the vivid green crayon…

"Hello, mum."

"I'm sorry," the Healer said, firmly, "But visiting hours are – "

"Almost over, I know. I'm just here to say goodbye for the summer."

The Healer narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to retort, but Alice sighed, and made some muttering noises in the back of her throat, before pushing a blue crayon across the table.

Awkward in his school uniform, the blonde-haired boy sat at the table and began coloring, and the Healer closed her mouth.

About an hour later, a bushy-haired girl and a lanky, freckled redhead intruded into the Spell Damage ward.

"Err, we ought to get going," said the girl, stepping forward. The lanky redhead said nothing, but shifted weight uncomfortably, grimacing apologetically at the head Healer, who was scowling from her place at the desk.

"Oh…alright," said the boy, distractedly, "Err…Mum? Listen…I've got to go away for a while…okay? And…I might be a long time. But I'll come back and visit when I can."

"She doesn't understand," the Healer sitting across from him said abruptly, her pale complexion turning red, "And it's time for you to go."

"Right," the pudgy boy said, miserably, "Sorry, I'll just…sorry."

But as he was turning to leave, Alice Longbottom reached out a bony hand and clutched his wrist, her firm grip belying her slim fingers.

She reached into the pocket of her hospital robes, and pressed a Droobles Best Blowing Gum wrapper into the boy's hand. He looked at the wrapper mutely.

For a moment nobody moved or spoke, but just stood there with their mouths hanging open. The pudgy, blond-haired boy nodded mutely, his eyes wide, and then, just like nothing had ever happened, Alice Longbottom went back to her drawing.

The three friends walked mutely out of the Spell Damage ward, and it wasn't until they reached the corridor that one of them spoke.

"Why?" Hermione asked, her voice quiet and businesslike, her gait quick with suppressed anger and concern.

"It's just something I had to do," said the boy, "Hang on, give me just a second."

Neville Longbottom stepped into the nearby men's room, and after a moment, Harry Potter stepped out.

"It's weird," Ron said, quietly.

"I know it is," Harry repeated patiently, "but it's just something I had to do."

"If this is some kind of bizarre penance, Harry," Hermione muttered fiercely, not looking at either of them, "I really don't think –"

"They don't understand, Hermione. They didn't even go to his funeral – "

"You're not helping them to understand, Harry!"

"Drop it," Ron said, quietly, and they remained quiet until they got to the main lobby.

"Right, grab a hand," Ron said, holding out a hand to each of them.

Harry made a slight, involuntary grimace, before taking Ron's hand.

"You're safe, Harry," Hermione said reassuringly, all traces of annoyance evaporating from her expression as she leaned around Ron, trying to meet Harry's eye, "You had a bad first experience that's all. It's nothing to be – "

"I know, I'm fine. Go ahead."

Ron sighed.

Harry felt a sickly familiar pop in his ears, and there they were, at Hogsmeade Station.

"Come on," Ron said, releasing their hands with a small squeeze, "We'll walk the rest of the way. It's nice out."

"Well done, Ron," Hermione said, putting an arm around his waist, "Flying colors. I'm so proud."

"I'm not totally useless," he said, some familiar humor and warmth creeping back into his smile. Harry felt a breeze ruffle his hair, the sun beating warmly on their shoulders. He relaxed a bit.

Harry knew that Dumbledore was bound to make a speech at the Leaving Feast – he knew that the hall would be draped in black, that all would be asked to raise their glass and remember Neville Longbottom…perhaps he'd mention the others who died, defending Hogwarts. Perhaps he'd make another call for unity.

Harry found he didn't really care…he knew it was Dumbledore's job, to help the other students understand, to help them cope – but words were so useless now – he'd heard so many in the past month or so.

Soon they'd be enjoying a nice, silent train ride home, Harry pressing his head against the cool glass, to watch the countryside whip by, while Ron and Ginny played chess perhaps, and Hermione buried herself in her latest book.

And then there would be the Weasleys waiting at the Platform to fuss, and there would be hugs all around, and much shaking of hands and kissing of cheeks, with promises of owls and as short a stay at Privet Drive as they could guarantee. And then he'd find the Dursleys, waiting as far away as they dared, scowls firmly in place, ready to host another summer of nightmares and isolation.

But Harry wasn't really worried about that either. Harry couldn't even bring himself to worry about Voldemort, though his presence was always a tingle at the back of his mind, like being aware of a slight toothache, or a cut on the roof of your mouth.

Just for the moment, walking in the waning sunlight with his best friends at his side, Hogwarts castle looming large and blessedly permanent ahead of them, the rest of the world could go away for the first time in months, and Harry dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, everything really would be alright.

Author Notes / Postscript:

IT'S COMPLETE: -)

Thank you so much for reading my first ever fan fic! I really hope you enjoyed…

First of all, Jenn the Freak has unfortunately has to forgo her Harry Potter trading cards, so that means Klondike Bar, it's your lucky day! You were the 1001st review. ;-) Just drop me an email with your mailing address, and I'll send them out straight away.

If you'd like another chance to win some trading cards, perhaps you'd like to take part in a little…

ART CONTEST! ;-)

To celebrate! Just pick any scene from the FF. Submissions are fine in any medium, from now until 7/16/05, when HBP comes out and renders this entire thing Alternate Universe. :lol: Just put it together, post it on the internet (snapfish, photobucket, and deviantart are great for that) and link me:) Or, you can link me to your LJ, or however you want to do it. First prize gets fame, glory, and a pack of Harry Potter trading cards. I know, not a _tremendous_ prize...but it's just for fun. ;-)

Here's what's up in the future:

a) Firenze's Fav is going to be my editor on this monstrosity…so Chapter One will FINALLY resemble something legible:lol: And hopefully any little plot holes or missing threads (not that there are any, of COURSE! ;-) ) will be ironed out smoothly. I'm also hoping to divide chapters more evenly, and think of titles for them.

b) Once it's edited, I'll probably post it in different Potterarchives, maybe enter it in a few contests…but there aren't many novel-length Potterfic contests…:Shrug: We'll see.

: -)

c) So err…what did you think? ;) Let me know! Question too, if you have them…if there's a bunch, I'll post a Q&A as an additional chapter.

d) I'm currently writing a column of editorials over at The – Lumos Libris, that's me! ;-) If you're into detailed Potter analysis, you'll really enjoy it…plus the Patronus has news, info, and lots of other fun things for devoted Potterphiles.

e) I'm also planning on doing a lot more drabbling over at the Harry Potter 100 LJ – a site that holds weekly, one-hundred word drabble contests on a theme – check it out, I highly recommend it! I've been thinking of turning some of my drabbles into short ficlets, which I will post on One more thing…

...now that I've completed my first fan fiction novel, I'm starting a completely original novel of my own :) It's based on an idea my friend and I co-hatched in high school, and then abandoned cruelly to its fate in my computer's graveyard. And now that I've said it out loud, I actually have to do it. :) Soon as I get it underway (probably this May) I'll post a link.

I'll post these, and all other updates to my livejournal, bluejeanphoenix.

One last word, and then good night, indeed:

Thank you all so very much…it has been a remarkable and very enjoyable journey. Your support has kept me going all the way to the finish line, and I think, has challenged me to stick to my guns, tackle something really big, and finish it. Your criticism has helped me become a better writer, and your praise has humbled me, and helped me to believe in myself as a writer.

Lots of love, and all the best in all your endeavors!

BJ


End file.
